


1999

by vanceypants



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Doomsday Prepper Michael Mell, Former Child Star Rich Goranski, M/M, Sex Worker Jeremy Heere, Slow Burn, Trans Rich Goranski, Y2K scare, film geek Jeremy Heere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 62,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanceypants/pseuds/vanceypants
Summary: Maybe it’s a biased opinion, but when it comes to soulmate marks, Jeremy’s is certainly the prettiest.  And it’d be all the prettier if he had someone to share it with.  But Jeremy has spent so long on Nintendo 64, amateur filmmaking, and selling himself for rent money that it’s easy to think it might be too late, especially now, when Michael is so certain that the new millennium spells their doom. Even if Jeremy found that soulmate, would he even have a chance to fall in love before the world completely went up in flames?Maybe it’s a biased opinion, but when it comes to soulmate marks, Rich’s is certainly the most frustrating.  Once a modern day Shirley Temple turned teenage indie darling, Rich has nothing left to show for his days in the spotlight beyond crippling addictions and graphic burn scars.  Between a menial customer service job and alternating liquor stores before the clerks get too friendly, Rich hardly has time to regard the peculiar blue of the mark on his arm or the eyes which correspond with it.And maybe it’s a biased opinion, but when Rich and Jeremy finally find each other, they’re certain that even the impending apocalypse isn’t enough to separate them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a 60K soulmates fic for NaNoWrimo. Set during the late 90s Y2K scare. I think that says just about everything.
> 
> I really hope this premise isn't too jumbled to enjoy. I poured a lot into this, and I hope somebody somewhere gets some enjoyment out of it. Thank you to everyone who's giving this a chance and a read, it means a lot to me.

“You knew her as the plucky orphan Macy Folly in the beloved sitcom Captain’s Folly, you saw her last summer in the cult classic Clementine’s Suicide, but what’s gotten Emily Goranski inspired today?’

The report’s cameras panned out, displaying a neatly dressed teenage girl, legs crossed, hands nervously twitching at the skirt fabric splayed over her knees. Her butterscotch hair curled around her baby-face, wide set green eyes fixed on the silver-haired host. Her lips, brilliantly pink, turned into an anxious grimace of a smile, though soon her persona seemed to shift. Her smile grew warmer, fingers stilling.

“It’s nice to see you again, Emily.” The host reached over, taking one of her hands between both of his own.

She chuckled softly. “Thanks for having me, Chet.”

“Always a pleasure. Now, this has been a busy year for you, has-”

The tape crackled, the spools of film strained and used. The TV went static, white, before the shadows of figures began to dance into focus again.

Words warbled, finally snapping into focus along with the picture.

“-like a Kurt Cobain meets Edie Brickell sort of thing. With the occasional dance anthem, because I’m weak for a good beat. So…” Emily trailed off, moving her hand as though to bite her nail, but quickly dropping it to her lap before it could make contact.

“It’s like,” She trailed off a moment, finding her footing. “It’s like I’ve always wanted to do a musical, but haven’t had the chance yet. Maybe try my hand at stage work. But regardless, it was nice, being in the studio, belting my lungs out, and I hope everyone else enjoys it a little.” Her eyes briefly glanced off the stage. When they snapped back to Chet, she laughed. “Or a lot! I hope everyone loves it. It’s a real passion project.”

“And it’s coming out…?”

“This Fall! October.”

“Amazing. And speaking of passion, what’s this I hear about a new love interest?” Chet raised his eyebrows, leaning in as though to absorb the scandal.

Emily laughed again, rubbing the back of her neck. “Guilty as charged.”

“It’s always a beautiful thing, when a young person finds their soulmate.”

Emily fell quiet, blinking for a few floundering seconds. Her smile strained against her face, words finally spilling.

“Ah, see, he’s not exactly...well,” Emily visibly bit the inside of her cheek, releasing it along with a shaky breath. “He’s unmarked, actually.”

“Unmarked?” Chet’s hairline swallowed his eyebrows. “Are you-”

“Oh. No, no, I’m marked.” Emily slid up the sleeve of her button up shirt. The static of the TV blurred the details of the grey-blue linework running up her inner forearm. She flexed her fingers and the colors seemed to glimmer vibrantly.

“Doesn’t it worry you? That you may find your match, while in this tenuous relationship?”

Emily’s nostrils flared, jaw tensing. “First off, there’s nothing tenuous about it. In fact, he’s going to be working on the set of my next movie.”

“Oh! Another mov-”

“Second off,” Emily kept speaking, ignoring the host’s attempts to redirect the conversation, “Plenty of people never find their soulmate. Or they have awful soulmates. Or, you know, just because you’re soulmates doesn’t mean you’re perfectly compatible anyway, right?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what having a soulmate means.” Chet spoke quietly, his normally smooth features creased in displeasure. “That’s actually the definition.”

Emily shrank in her seat, playing with the hem of her skirt. “...a-anyway, the new movie is going to be an action comedy and I-”

Another crackle and pop of the VCR, whirring noisily as lengths of film began to shoot from the slot. The display was pure snow, the noises shrieking before dying into snapping white noise.

Rich jerked awake from his armchair, spilling his can of bargain beer to the matted carpet beneath him. His legs flailed, feet finally settling onto the ground, his eyes focusing on the TV.

“Piss,” He snarled in annoyance, throwing himself from the chair. He staggered around the piles of clutter, until he reached the TV.

He tore the video from the VCR, the snap of black tape making his scowl grow. “Piss!” He repeated, fishing fistfuls of tape from the smoking VCR. The frustration bowled over him, and he tore the VCR from his stand, cables snapping and snaking about. He flung it at the paneled wall, a self-satisfied smile briefly touching his lips as he surveyed the destruction.

Except now he’d need to buy a new VCR.

With all the money he didn’t have.

“...piss,” He muttered for the third time, kicking a pile of laundry and sighing tiredly.

Idly, he scratched the swirling blue mark on his left arm. What was the old wives tale? If your mark itches, that means your soulmate is thinking of you?

Or maybe it was shingles.

Rich couldn’t bring himself to care particularly either way.

Rich’s bare feet padded to the kitchen. The cramped space seemed to close around him and he felt a new wave of exhaustion.

When was the last time he hadn’t been exhausted?

Probably around 1995.

Ironic. He’d actually been productive in ‘95. Go figure.

Rich threw open the fridge, fumbling around for a bottle. Or a box of wine. Or a jug of cooking sherry.

He’d never used cooking sherry in his life. Why would he expect it in his fridge?

“Fuck it.” He trudged towards his sink, to the stack of cans lining the periphery of it He picked them up one by one, shaking them until he heard the sweet slosh of liquid.

The beer was stale, flat, and tasted faintly of cigarette ash. He wrinkled his nose, but continued drinking. Each drink felt tight, flattened movements from the compression shirt underneath his uniform.

He needed to quit sleeping in that thing. Even if it did save on time. Even if it made him feel better to have found a workaround for flatness.

A bird slammed into the kitchen window, a crash and flutter of desperate black wings. Rich’s grip slipped, abruptly pulling the can from his mouth. His can angled, spilling stale beer over the black cotton of his work shirt.

“Piss!” He shrieked. He dropped the beer can, a splash of amber fluids spouting upward and soaking the frayed legs of his jeans.

What a joke.

Rich grabbed a fistful of Wendy’s napkins from the counter, dabbing at his shirt and smearing ketchup into the fabric in the process. 

What an absolute fucking joke.

Rich rubbed away the ketchup, leaving a greasy sheen over the wet spot. He could smell the alcohol wafting off of him, and tried to gauge whether it would be detectable over the fryer grease.

Unlikely.

“Fuck it,” he insisted again, sliding unsocked feet into his sneakers. He grabbed his camels, sliding them into his back pocket, and then his bus pass, and slid out of his screen door.

Today, Boombox Guy serenaded the bus with the Spice Girl discography and further murmurs of the end of the world. Rich closed his eyes as he settled back against the bus seat, and he considered riding out to the end of the line. And then finding another bus. And taking that to the end of its line. And then a bus after that. And after that. On and on to the ends of the earth. How far along would Boombox Guy follow? Maybe there was an infinite line of Boombox Guy waiting to be discovered, their newscasts of armageddon punctured with girly pop and alternative rock, influenced by said Boombox Guy’s personal preferences and correlating with hair length. 

Just past the golden arches, and near the local K-Mart (the one with the good parking lot, where the skaters liked to congregate), sat the squalid kingdown that was Kay’s Kooking. Home of the famous hashbrown burger.

At least, the manager, Kevin, claimed it was famous. Mostly it seemed to be a semi-decent hangover cure, for those who couldn’t be assed to dress for the luxury that was Denny’s.

“Hey Rich!” Pam waved around the balding head of a customer. “You look like death.”

Rich should have argued. But he shrugged instead. The neon interior of the restaurant surely accented his scars and the bags under his eyes.

He pretended to ignore the double take of Baldy, the customer craning his neck to take in the patchwork of skin grafts and melted flesh that made up Rich’s face and exposed arms. The scars dipped underneath his collar, and Rich didn’t doubt that the customer was mentally trying to paint a portrait of the extent of his damage. Thank god for baggy shirts that left everything to the imagination.

Joke was on Baldy, though. Rich was damaged far beyond smoke inhalation and burns.

“Feel like death, Pam. Crazy night last night.”

“Wild party?”

If by wild party, she meant buying cans of cat food for strays and drunkenly trying to pet a raccoon, then- “Yup.”

Pam laughed. “I wish I had your life.”

“You can have it!” He slid behind the counter, grabbing an apron before going to clock in. “What about you?”

She finished ringing in Baldy, who still kept staring at Rich. Rich made a point to square his shoulders, pushing depth into his voice.

Pam smiled. “Met with the matchmaker finally.”

“Gag.”

“It was nice! She’s going to get with a PI, and canvas the area with flyers of my mark, and-”

“Gag.”

“It’s nice, Rich! I hope he’s handsome.”

“The investigator?”

She laughed, as the door twinkled an alert of another customer. 

Rich ducked himself to the back grill before he had to face more eyes on his burned face. The less people noticed, the less he had to think about the fire itself.

Instead, he threw frozen patties onto the grill and thought of nothing at all. Better instead to stay just in the moment enough to bop along to the boy band medley of the day, and ensure the proper flame broil lines of subpar beef, without being present enough to indulge in the grief of working minimum wage for maximum humiliation.

Truth be told, Rich liked his job.

Maybe that was the biggest humiliation of all. That he took some semblance of joy in his work.

Especially given where he came from. Shouldn’t he have instead been chasing a comeback? Trying to find Real Work? He had connections, once upon a time, with the Sundance set, the indie darlings, the up and comers.

Maybe one of them needed a deformed monster.

Rich winced, flipping burgers and purging the thoughts. Nick Lachey crooned about romance and he focused on the vapid lyrics, until he lost his aspirations and critical reasoning skills.

Good old bubble gum pop. Just the cure he needed for the curse of cognition.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re so sexy, baby.”

Jeremy knew, logically speaking, that it was a compliment.

He knew it was flattering. He was being praised! By a man unashamed to issue such compliments in public, in a world of bashings and hatred, to take him out on the town.

And it was a nice restaurant too. Cloth napkins. Michael would definitely be impressed by the cloth napkins--at least until he rolled his eyes over the bourgeois extravagance. Jeremy brushed his finger over a fork. Real silver, he was sure of it.

...the man could have at least ironed his shirt.

Or buttoned it.

Jeremy could see curls of chest hair spilling through loose button holes. He thought of how this evening would likely end, and bile licked at the back of his throat.

He’d gotten real good at swallowing though. He pushed it down.

“Baby.”

It was like something out of a nightmare. His skin crawled, waves of nastiness rolling over him, and he forced a smile.

“Thank you.”

“I can’t wait until we skip to dessert.” His laugh was moist and chunky, globbing from his chapped lips. His tongue swabbed around his mouth wetly.

Jeremy winced, rubbing his forearm uneasily. 

And wondered what his soulmate was doing, right now, as his fingers passed over the green mark. Was he happy? Was he dating? Was he watching anything good? How was his taste in movies? Did he like video games? 

How could Jeremy be so sure he was a he? His hand stilled over the mark, and hoped that cosmically he was passing some level of comfort across whatever distance separated them.

Or maybe he was hoping to absorb some comfort from him instead.

At any rate, the man was buying him such a nice dinner. And he’d promised Jeremy gas money for the distance to get there--which was super nice, considering Jeremy had walked.

Jeremy didn’t mind a few minutes of discomfort if it meant a full stomach and some funds for milk. He was sure Michael was getting sick of dry cereal. Maybe they could even get some bread.

“I’m not a fag, just so you know.”

Oh.

Conversation.

Joy.

And so much for the unashamed portion of his assessment. Another one of those guys.

“I-I-”

“Not like you. I have a wife. A real, bonded wife. A fag wouldn’t have a female soulmate, you know?”

“Uh...um, uh huh.”

He thought about saying ‘What about Will and Grace’ but sitcoms hardly seemed a barometer for realism. Even if the platonic mate thing had been on the rise in recent years. It was still a fantasy, or taken as a fantasy by the majority of America.

"I just don't want you getting the wrong idea here." His smile smelled rancid, grime oozing from his teeth in waves of foul odors. Jeremy wanted to retch.

He just needed to think of the chicken parmesan he'd ordered and make it through to the end of the evening. Chicken parm and money for groceries and how much he wished he could tell Michael about any of this, but wouldn't, because he'd think it was-

He'd think it was bad. It didn't matter which word he might assign to it, the definition he'd declare, and how much Jeremy dared not even think the word. It didn't matter. Because it wasn't that. It wasn't anything.

It was just a date.

The man drained his wine glass, then belched loudly. Jeremy shrank back in his seat.

This time two years ago, he'd been painstakingly drafting love letters to Christine Canigula. Word after word about how soulmates didn't matter, about how pretty her voice was when she monologued Shakespeare, about how they definitely needed to grab some coffee and talk about Leonardo DiCaprio or something because that was a subject girls were totally into right, about how-

There was a lot of nonsense that went into those letters. And the point really did boil down to wondering What If. Because Jeremy hadn't thought about Christine since he'd dropped out, save for the brief wedding announcement he'd seen in the newspaper a few weeks ago. Maybe that was why she was fresh on his mind. 

She'd always been the one who'd gotten away. Or maybe that was too melodramatic a turn on what was really an insignificant high school crush. 

Because he'd always sort of suspected his actual 'mate' was male. And maybe it scared him, and maybe that was why he'd fantasized about burning down the whole system and running off with Christine, and maybe he really was a homophobic creep and oh god why was Michael even friends with him why was ANYONE even friends with him he was such a hypocritical-

"-don't fall in love with me, kid."

"Huh?" Jeremy blinked. And glanced down at the table, as the server came by, depositing their plates before them.

"I said don't fall in love with me, kid," He winked, gummy eyelashes mashing together. 

Jeremy's smile strained on his face. "Don't worry, I, um, I w-won't."

"I know my charm can be-"

He tuned him out, grabbing a fork and feeling his stomach constrict in upon itself with every desperate, starved growl. How he'd looked forward to this, since the moment they'd set up their little date. It was a real catch, though--knowing food was coming somehow made the hunger elevate even greater. 

But oh, it made that first bite all the more satisfying. Jeremy lifted a forkful of chicken and sauce to his lips, a line of cheese connecting it to the plate. It snapped satisfyingly, as he parted his bow-tie lips. It slid against his tongue, sizzling and warm. He closed his lips over the fork, curling his tongue back to savor the flavor of the marinara sauce.

His teeth closed down against the chicken, and he had to physically restrain himself from making any sounds as he drowned in the flavors of the juicy chicken, the perfectly simmered sauce, the delicious tang of the cheese. His eyelashes fluttered closed, each breath shaky and uncertain as his every sense spiraled in on his mouth.

It was so good. He needed to make sure he saved half of it for Michael, but oh, it was going to be hard to hold back.

Distantly, he was aware that his date was talking. When he opened his eyes again, he could see him move his arms, an animated display that could almost trick Jeremy into thinking he might be saying something interesting.

It was probably more, ugh, babys. He didn't need to hear that petname anytime soon, or preferably ever. He spindled his fork around the cheese, before he picked up the knife and cut himself off another piece.

Did his soulmate eat well? Did he eat enough? Jeremy wondered what his life was like. Was he rich? Wouldn't that be something, if Jeremy ended up meeting him like this? Out on a date, exchanging pleasantries for gas money and decent food? His eyes briefly flickered to the brown marking on his date's arm, then down to the green of his own.

Green eyes were so pretty, or was he just programmed to think that because he'd been indoctrinated to look for green since becoming aware of the meaning of his mark?

He couldn't imagine actually falling for one of these dates--but it'd be different, if they matched, wouldn't it? How would it feel, the moment they met? Would it be nice? 

What if he didn't like Jeremy? 

What if he was disappointed?

He considered whether it was worth asking these questions of Michael. But, though he'd yet to meet his own, Michael hardly seemed concerned with the topic of soulmates and bonds and cryptic markings and the merits of green eyes.

Granted, Michael these days was more concerned with hoarding toilet paper and bottles of water than with figuring out the love of his life.

He supposed if he actually bought into his conspiracies, Jeremy wouldn't be so worried either. Or maybe it would hype him up further. Because if the world was ending-

"I'm going to go grab my wallet from my car."

"Huh? O-okay."

-then he only had a limited time to spend with the one he was literally built to be with. Jeremy watched his date walk off to the doors, smiling faintly not out of fondness for the stout man, but rather out of affection at the prospect of sharing these stories with his soulmate someday. 

Because he wouldn't be ashamed of him.

Because he wouldn't think he was weird or offputting or distressing.

Because-

...he was driving away.

And for a moment, Jeremy's mind floundered, conflating his date with his soulmate and feeling an extra wave of sickened panic. 

No, it wasn't his soulmate leaving him. Just his mealticket.

Jeremy looked down at his plate. His heart sank into his not-quite-full stomach. "O-oh."

Maybe he should have put on more of a front of compassion and care and sex appeal. Maybe he should have flirted and batted his eyelashes and rubbed his leg up against the date's underneath the table.

Maybe he should have eaten quickly and ditched him first. Why did he never think to eat quicker?

He slipped his hand into his pocket, drawing out his worn brown wallet. He rubbed his thumb over the leather, smiling sadly at the words Michael had engraved into it, to perfectly replicate the film.

He sure didn't feel like a Bad Motherfucker right now.

The only good thing, he decided after he shelled out the entirety of his life savings on one meal, was at least he was able to box up his date's leftovers along with his own. That was good for at least another meal.

All in all, he decided, it wasn't his worst date that week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s ship of the day is Chicken Parm/Jeremy


	3. Chapter 3

"Essentially," Moses said as he began to button Emily's shirt from behind. She shifted slightly, as his hands continued to work from the bottom to the top with every button, "I'm what you'd call a starter."

"Like on a car?" Emily grinned, tilting her head up to catch Moses' gaze. "Vroom vroom."

He laughed, directing her head down to rest his chin atop her hair. His hands rested against her stomach, pulling her back flush against him. "No. Like a starter boyfriend. A trial run." He kissed the top of her head. "An experiment before you find the real thing."

"Sucks to be you, Marie Curie. I don't experiment. I've already found the real thing."

Moses flipped up the collar of Emily's shirt. He trailed a tie over it casually. "Maybe," He said slowly, as he measured out the length of cloth. "But," He began to fold and twist and tie, "You're marked. It's sacred."

"Sacred," She repeated derisively.

He paused, grabbing her left arm and pulling it upward. He bent over her body, kissing the back of her hand. Moses pulled her hand a bit higher, until the sleeve spilled backwards, exposing her mark.

Tenderly, he brushed his thumb over it. Emily gasped, goosebumps erupting over her skin, as he trailed over every curve and contortion of its patterns.

"Whoever they might be, I'll step aside, whenever they make themselves known," Mo spoke solemnly. 

And Emily scowled. "Fuck that shit, dude. You're my guy!"

"But I'm not."

"But you ARE. I chose you. That has to mean more than-"

"Destiny? Fate? Biological drive?"

Emily's lower lip stuck out as she pouted. "Fuck biology. Since when do we care about that?"

Moses returned his hands towards her neck, finishing knotting the tie. He tugged it firmly, but carefully, to Emily's collar. Smoothing it back down, he stepped back, both gazing into the full length mirror.

"Whoa." Emily fidgeted, hands initially on her hips, before folding over her chest, then dropping them altogether. "Whoa!"

"Amazing what a well tailored shirt can do."

"Fucking...fucking WHOA, Mo. Holy shit!" She collected her hair, pulling it back behind her head, as though to mimic a shorter cut. "Oh man, this is the bomb, Moses! I look so...so..."

"You?"

"So me! Mostly anyway. Maybe I should work out." She flexed one of her arms, trying to force muscle. She laughed breathlessly. "So cool!"

"You're so handsome." Moses spoke with the sort of reverence that Emily knew she didn't deserve.

But she glowed all the same, turning around and placing her hands against his shoulder, straining up on her toes to lean closer towards his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mo wrapped his arms around her petite waist, pulling her in until they were meshed together. "My handsome little man."

Rich's eyes snapped open. His cheeks were wet, body frigid, and he turned over in his arm chair with a small sob.

It was frustrating.

It was frustrating and it was a fucking joke.

And it was cold. It was cold, sleeping alone.

Or, he realized as soft mewing drew his attention to the TV stand and the open window behind it, maybe it was cold because he'd left everything open and not properly locked up after work.

An orange cat perched on his television, tilting his head as he meowed his insistence at Rich.

"Good to see you too, Omelette."

The cat jumped off the TV, trotting to the chair and weaving around Rich's legs. Rich laughed, rubbing his eyes on the back of his arm. He leaned down, scooping the cat up and cradling the matted stray to his body. 

Now he was trapped, though, he realized as the cat purred his contentment. There'd be no closing the window from here.

There were much worse way to be impeded, he noted, smiling as he pet the perky ears of his favorite neighborhood cat.

As he stroked his fur, the light twinkled in through the open window. The moon's glow glistened off Rich's arm, and he stared at the blue glean.

"You wanna be my soulmate, Omelette?" He asked lightly, scratching under the cat's chin and surveying his face. "You have blue eyes?"

Not quite. It would be simpler though wouldn't it? If the marks just denoted a pet situation, instead of some sort of life partner.

Ah well.

He curled the fingers of his left hand, watched the way the colors seemed to sparkle all the further with every movement, and the cat ignored him, save for a steady purr as he nuzzled up into Rich's other hand. Rich laughed softly, though his gaze was fixed on his arm, rather than the soft kitty.

He'd loved Moses so much. He knew maybe some of it was teenage hormones, but if you really broke it down, everything was hormones, wasn't it? So how did this count any less? He'd taught him so much, about life, about love, about himself.

Himself.

Not herself.

A lump formed in Rich's throat, his eyes moving from his bond tat, to the ridges of burns surrounding it.The mark itself was untouched, the one portion of his arm that wasn't twisted and scarred blistering.

Even if he found his mate, even if he was able to love her, she'd surely never see past the disfigurement to love him. Rich's eyes stung and he drew his hand away from the cat, to roughly press at his eyes.

How stupid, to even care this much. To nearly cry, when he'd already had a great love story, a great life, all before he'd ruined everything.

God. He needed a drink.

He waited several minutes before rousing Omelette. He trudged to the smallest of his clothing piles, picking among fabric until he found an oversized black hoodie. He threw it over his bare chest, drowning contently in the oversized material. All the bagginess, all the shapelessness, that he desperately craved.

He reached into the pouched pocket, searching for money that failed to materialize. Sighing, he took himself into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Reaching behind freezer-burned ice cream and fish sticks, he finally grasped what he was looking for.

A loose Visa card.

Emergency use only.

He cradled the cold plastic in his palm, as Omelette meowed at him from the doorframe.

"If I pick up some Meow Mix, it counts as a real valid use, right? Meow if you agree."

It took a few breaths before the cat meowed its consent. Rich smiled, equal parts relieved and ashamed. How low, to exploit Omelette for intoxication and the drowned death of a few more of his preciously low supply of brain cells.

Whatever the case, he kicked his feet into a pair of pink jellies at his doorframe, flexing open toes for a moment and regarding the cat. "You can stay, if you want. No parties though, man. I'm trusting you."

Omelette flicked his tail. Rich smiled, fond and miserable and lonely.

Nothing a little whiskey couldn't burn out of him. 

Besides, he had to get cat food. He had to be a proper host. He fiddled with the card, and pulled the hood over his head, as he spilled himself out into the February night. Sometimes he liked to pretend the stares were a result of his beauty and lingering fame--though he'd held no fondness for the multitudes of paparazzi which had decorated his youth. Maybe someone really enjoyed his movies, or was still hoping he'd release his album. 

Maybe somebody still remembered Emily Goranski. And maybe somebody, somewhere, might even learn to be able to see Rich Goranski too, to recognize and affirm and appreciate...

He slid the sleeve of his hoodie up for just a moment. Surveyed his arm. Touched the mark with almost as much tenderness as Moses had afforded him.

...love.

His fingernails dug into the mark, his eyes stinging from the cold and his own bitter resentment, as he ripped down the sleeve and hunched into his hoodie. Nobody was looking because they recognized him. They looked because he was a mess, a hideous misshapen mess, and he didn't fit in here, and hadn't fit in in Hollywood, and wouldn't fit in anywhere, and wasn't this all a big joke, and-

He really needed that drink.

The liquor store clerk knew him too well to judge, or at least knew him too well to be horrified by his visage. He swiped his card, printed his receipt, and handed him the sweet brown bag which held all of Rich's potential and hope.

It was a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rich/biblically named exes strolling down memory lane


	4. Chapter 4

“Maybe if you could learn to t-t-t-talk, I’d have more to g-g-give you.”

Jeremy winced, each staccato mockery inaccurate but brutal. He folded his arms over his chest, sucking in a breath and holding back his retorts.

Because he’d just stutter them anyway. And what was the point of giving him more ammo? He couldn’t guarantee a steadiness to his voice, ergo he’d forgo his voice completely.

The man held out the fistful of dollars, a stray five dangling within the clutch, and Jeremy wanted to tell him to piss off with his pocket change. He wanted to hold his head up high and erase the ache in his jaw and throat. He wanted to banish the burning desperation behind his feverish eyes. And he desperately wanted to claw away the red splotch to his skin, the familiar touch of frustrated anxiety that always left his skin aflame. 

“Well? Are you going to take it?”

Jeremy dropped his head, hand shaking as he timidly reached out. He took the bills, closing his fingers around each dollar. His date sneered at him.

“Well?”

Jeremy blinked at him. 

“Well?? Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank...um. Thank y-you.”

Fuck.

His date laughed. “You’re w-wel-welcome. Bitch.”

Jeremy hastily backed away from the car his date had been idling in, as it peeled out of the parking lot they’d agreed upon for their drop off. Only three blocks from home. That wasn’t a bad walk by any means. And it meant Michael hadn’t needed to see any of that.

The less Michael knew about Jeremy’s love life, the better.

Jeremy cradled his cardigan around his shivering body, as he swayed down the side streets. He’d thought it might be a promising night. The man had green eyes--more of an olive than an emerald, but it was a start. And his mark had been blue--more of a sapphire than stormy grey, but it was a--

Complete waste of time. What did he expect? His connections would just spill his soulmate right into his lap?

And what did he expect, should that happen? That he’d just scoop him up and save him? Jeremy didn’t need saving. He was content. He was happy. He was really, truly happy.

His eyes bubbled with tears. He looked upward, closing his eyes and breathing out shaky exhale. His fingers fanned over the frayed edges of the sweaty wad of money he’d been handed. And he did the math. They could go get laundry done for the week. Maybe buy some soup, some ramen. He’d hoped to get enough for Michael to go to the record store. Michael really needed to get out of the house. Jeremy was certain he was depressed. Why wasn’t Michael acknowledging that fact? 

Jeremy opened his eyes, and a small sob hiccupped from his lips. He quickly dabbed at his eyes on the sleeve of his cardigan, and fixed his gaze straight ahead. He stuffed the money into his pocket. Gas money. Weren’t his dates incredibly thoughtful.

His mouth tasted awful. He hoped they still had toothpaste. He hadn’t factored that into his math, into this allotment. Jeremy weaved around the cracks in the sidewalk, until he finally reached the stone and brick of their dwelling. He headed for the basement entrance, the small space they’d rented from the owners of the rest of the building, and tapped down the steps one by one.

The door was unlocked, or at least, it gave until the chain caught it, snapping the door aggressively in the process. Jeremy frowned, as Sublime blasted from the interior out to the winter air. “M...Michael?”

“Shit.” The sound of clattering and flailing was so familiar as to be comforting. Jeremy smiled just slightly, as Michael turned down the radio. The fade in music only made the volume of the television more apparent, though Jeremy couldn’t quite place the characters or plot.

His mind felt fuzzy. He just wanted to lay down.

But he had another date to get ready for. 

Who’d have thought Jeremy Heere could become so popular? And all it had taken was dropping out of school, and dropping all sense of standards or decency or morality-

Stop. There was nothing immoral about any of this. They were dates. So what if they wanted to help him out a little with small expenses, and so what if he wanted to exchange small favors? It was only polite. Especially when wasting the time of people he wasn’t bonded to. It was the kind thing to do.

The door closed, as Michael fiddled with the chain. He unlatched it, swinging the door open and grinning. “Hey, loverboy.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Hey, Michael.”

“Come on, tell me about your date.”

Oh. Right. He had mentioned he was going out, hadn’t he? He needed to keep better track of that, the times he admitted it was a date, and the times he made up an excuse. Sometimes MIchael seemed in such a haze that Jeremy didn’t even bother with excuses. It wasn’t as though he’d be cognitiant enough to even piece together that Jeremy was missing.

But today must have been a good day. Michael was wearing a different shirt, and he’d showered, and his steps bounced as he flounced towards one of their bean bag chairs.

“O-oh. Um.”

“Seriously, dude, have I mentioned how proud I am of you?”

“...what?”

Pride. In Jeremy. Jeremy felt a hard knot of guilt wrap around his stomach.

“Yeah. It’s dangerous, putting yourself out there like that.”

Jeremy anxiously rubbed his arm, that familiar attempt to draw comfort from his mark, to try to telepathically communicate distress to someone he’d yet to even meet, yet to even know. “Well-”

“But you’re just doing it. Out and proud. Dude. That’s so cool. And you’ve been studying so hard-”

Jeremy hadn’t opened his GED text in three months. But he carried it off with him often, an excuse of going to the library. The guilt stacked higher. 

“-I mean, it’s all hopeless,” Michael added, grabbing the remote and flipping until the TV was on MTV. He grimaced as he noted the particular soulless pop twitttering about the display, before fixing his eyes back on Jeremy. “It’s not going to matter soon enough. But still.”

“Michael-”

“I know, I know. You think I’m crazy.”

“I didn’t say-”

“But we’re running low on time. It’s already February, Jer.”

“I kn...I know.”

“We need to get more batteries. You think we have enough in our savings for batteries? D, I think...I think we have plenty of triple As, but I’m not sure....Jer, you think we can pick some up tomorrow?”

Jeremy briefly touched his hand against his pocket. And he considered, not for the first time, where MIchael must have thought their funds were coming from. He kept referencing savings. Did he really think they had a plethora of money stashed-

“M-maybe. I don’t know.”

Michael smiled, the fondness on his face radiating so genuinely that Jeremy had to look away.

“I think we can make it work,” Jeremy added. Michael asked so little. If he wanted batteries, he’d find a way. It was as simple as that. That was what friends did.

“I mean, I’d say get an extension cord too, but-”

“We al-already have a box of them?”

“Yes, and I don’t think we’ll be on the grid at all After,” He spoke in such a way that forced Jeremy to internally capitalize “after”. The Big After. 

Somedays he rolled his eyes. But Michael was clean and smiling and picking up his nintendo controller expectantly. And though Jeremy was tired and sore and needed to get ready for another date in just a few hours, how could he tell him no? 

He sank down into the seat beside him, smiling as he picked up his own controller. Player two. “You know,” He said softly. “Y-you know, there’s probably a lot of people out there that think the same way you d-”

“There are.”

“Maybe you should, um...maybe we could head out together some time, and you could maybe ex, um, exchange some ideas with them. H...h-heart to heart.”

Michael crawled out of the chair, padding over the TV, changing it to channel 3, then flipping on the super nintendo. “Why would I do that?”

“...I d-don’t know, it might be good for you.”

Michael scoffed. “No way, they’d probably try to rob me of my surplus.”

Jeremy glanced around the room. The lined walls of canned food, the pyramids of toilet paper, the boxes of first aid kits. How much money had they sank into this project?

No. No getting bitter. It was Michael’s way of coping, with setting goals and staying present. He wasn’t going to think of the dollar signs, because money wasn’t what mattered here.

...maybe it mattered a little.

“W-well, you never know. You might meet someone special…”

Michael’s smile faltered, and his eyes rolled irritably. “I don’t have time to traipse around looking for a match that I won’t find, Jer. After New Years, he’ll probably die in the initial riots anyway. Why waste my time?”

The implications there, that it was a waste of time, dug into Jeremy’s bones. Even if the world wasn’t ending--and certainly Jeremy held his doubts about that little kernel of truth that Michael parroted--what was the point of it all? Hitching his hopes on someone who’d likely find him repulsive anyway. Plenty of people turned their noses up on their soulmates. Elaine had in Seinfeld, and their old neighbors were divorced while bonded. It wasn’t unheard of.

And Jeremy offered so little. He looked around again, gaming systems and doomsday prep and shelves upon shelves of Important Movies that he’d been too tired lately to even watch. His stomach soured, and he set down the controller.

“I a-actually think I need a nap, Michael.”

“Huh? You okay?”

“Yeah, just really...need to rest b-before my next date.”

Oops. He should have made up an excuse. Michael’s eyebrows raised. “Whoa. Already? You two must have really hit it off.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell him it was with a different guy. He smiled, strained and exhausted and shrugged pitifully. “Y-yeah, he really seemed to get me, I guess. But um, don’t play on my saved game, and have fun, okay?”

He trudged to their shared bedroom, flopping onto his twin bed and staring up at the glow stars Michael had stuck on the ceiling. Michael had turned up the music again, and Jeremy threw his arm over his eyes, blurring the green of his mark in his vision and counting all the ways he’d fucked up his life up to this point.


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you sure?"

Rich felt like a child asking it. More of a child than he'd felt in any of his days starring in sitcoms and cereal commercials. He clutched the box which contained all his snacks and gigapets and novelties he'd brought into Kay's Kooking over his years of employment, and watched the way Kevin refused to meet his eyes.

"Yes, Richard, we're sure."

"...I...but are you sure?" Rich stood on the curb outside the restaurant. His eyes moved to the window, watching the way customers and employees alike stared out at him. He thought about how he should be behind the grill, flipping and sauteing and 'serving up smiles'. He thought of how it was halfway through the pay period, and how his check would be cut in half by the loss of hours. 

He thought about how he'd failed at yet another venture, and hadn't even factored in that failure might be an option here. He blinked, as late winter snow began to swell in the clouds and powder overhead.

"We can't have our employees showing up intoxicated." Kevin stepped closer, placing a hand on Rich's shoulder. "You need help."

Rich jerked his arm away, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed his boss.

Former boss.

"You need to suck my dick," He snapped. He could feel his alcohol-infused breath wrap around him. Noosing the two of them, and ensuring suffocation, ensuring a sealed fate.

Ah well. There were other jobs. Rich hitched up his box.

"And I'm not even drunk, dude. It was cough syrup. Cough syrup! God forbid someone try to make ends meet by coming to work sick-"

"We wouldn't want you here sick-"

"Bullshit! How many times have you screamed at people for trying to call off? Man, fuck this place. This is such bullshit! I wasted my best years on this place!"

It was a fast food job. Not a corporate high rise. Why was he so angry? Why wasn't he rejoicing? He was free! He was free and could do whatever he wanted and-

The snow tickled his nose and his eyes and Rich realized he was likely to start crying. "Fuck you, Kevin. Fuck this dump. I'm out of here. You'll be fucking sorry. I was...I held this place together, man. You'll be sorry."

He knew it was lies even as he swiveled and began to angrily stomp towards his bus stop. He didn't hold anything together. He didn't even hold himself together.

But it felt nice to yell for a little bit, didn't it? He sighed, taking a seat on the bus bench and staring straight ahead to the general malaise and filth of the town. There was nothing worth staying here for, he thought. Maybe this was the kick he needed. He could go back west. Look for an acting job. Something small, maybe some extra work, and someone would spot him, and recognize him, and soon he'd be...

...he'd be a laughing stock and a pity case and who needed that, anyway? Rich didn't need anything. He fiddled around in his box, past bugles and butterfinger bbs, pulling out a snap bracelet and toying with it uneasily. 

He'd liked that job. That was the worst part of it. He'd liked it, and he'd still thought he could get away with bringing liquor with him in a thermos. Like he wouldn't get caught. Like no one would think to check on the wobbling line chef with the glazed eyes and dirty uniform. 

Rich thought of how Moses had always said he had so much potential. And he laughed morosely. Some potential. He couldn't even hold down a minimum wage job. What the hell kind of sad joke of a person was he?

Rich set the box beside him, out of his lap, onto the bench, and snapped the bracelet sharply onto his wrist. He looked at the glittering star pattern, thought of how happy he'd been as a kid when he'd first seen the Walk of Fame, all the stars and hand prints and celebrity names that he was so certain would be his best of best friends now that he was In. What an idiot. He doubted any of them even remembered him. Maybe Captain's Folly still ran in syndication, but who really wasted their time on that shit? 

And certainly nobody remembered him from his movies. An awkward teenager, with awkward stilted delivery, and an awkward face, and...

God. Who the hell had he thought he was, thinking he could be somebody? And now this. Thinking he'd found some nitch in the world he'd belonged in, even if it was shameful and sad, it was his nitch. They were his people.

He'd never see them again, that he was certain of. Outside of two visits with his agent in the hospital, he hadn't spoken to any of his Hollywood connections since the fire. And this was just a different variety of fire, right? So he certainly wouldn't be speaking to any of them--to Deb or Margo or Diane, any of the peers and Mom-types who'd become staples in his life.

Rich balled his hand into a fist, and watched the way the stormy grey of his tattoos bled into the brighter blues. He watched the way everything swirled in on itself. Would she judge him for this? Was she a shrill nag sort? The outlines of his tattoo were blurred with ink, doodled in from last night's idle considerations. Had she felt the pen gently stroke around the outlines, a phantom sensation traveling across space and time to let her know that Rich existed, that he was thinking of her?

God.

Maybe this was the step he needed.

Maybe this really was a good thing.

Rich bit his lip as the considerations waved over him. Maybe he could take out an ad. A campaign like his friend at work...his former friend at former work...to plaster his mark around, until he made contact with the right association. That wasn't such a bad idea, was it?

It wasn't such a great idea either. But when his next check came, halved as expected, he found himself calling up the newspaper. Taking out an ad was easier, and more expensive, than he'd anticipated it might be. And he realized, once he saw it in print, he should have sprung for color. Because the blurred grey of the cheap photo really bled out all the details of his mark in all the worst ways.

But it was done. He was putting himself out there. A few lines of copy text and he was advertising himself, seeking companionship for the end of the 90s, and maybe even the end of days if those doomsday prophesies had anything going for them.

Rich laughed sadly as he stared at his phone, and waited for the phone calls that never came, the answers to his questions and aspirations. It was all foolishness. He should have been using the papers to search for job opportunities, should have been canvasing the professional landscape with resumes and applications.

Instead, he was pinning hope on finding somebody who he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find. Rich traced outlines around his mark with felt tipped pen and considered the likelihood that he could ever like himself well enough to truly find himself worth devoting to another person.

He’d done it once, right? So maybe it was time to do it again.

Moving on. A fresh start.

Whoever she was, he knew, she’d have to be something really spectacular to be able to navigate the mess he’d made of his life though.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t that Jeremy was necessarily a neat freak. But the general claustrophobic cacophony of End Of Days supplies made him all the more anxious to spring clean and get rid of unnecessary items.

Could it really be called spring cleaning, he wondered? It was Valentine’s day. That was technically still winter, right?

He frowned as he pulled another dusty box towards himself. It was Valentine’s day. And for once, he had no dates lined up.

Which meant the idea of actually going out to eat was out of the question.

Not that he had anyone to go out for dinner with anyway. He supposed he could try to convince Michael, but somedays he just didn’t have the patience to sit down and cajole Michael into actually going out and--god, Jeremy was the worst! What kind of friend was he, to find himself weary and impatient with his obviously suffering friend? Jeremy scraped his fingers through his hair, tangling curls around his digits and pulling slightly in his anxiety and distress, just enough to feel the sting against his scalp and ground himself. He scraped his fingernails, breathing out shakily, then dropping his hands back to the box.

It was fine. They’d stay in.

Because it was Valentine’s day. A day for soulmates and cheesy love letters and chocolates and had he mentioned soulmates already? Because everyone knew, Valentine’s day may have been a mass marketed card company campaign, but it was also an excuse to link marked arm in arm and strut around your genetically perfect pair for all the world to see.

And Jeremy was tired from his fantasies. He sighed, opening the box.

Home movies. He picked up one of the small camcorder tapes, rolling it around and laughing. “Michael!” He yelled out. “Michael, do we still have the adapter?”

“Huh?” He ducked into the room from the kitchen--and that was a good sign! Michael was cooking, rather than grabbing another poptart and orange fanta--and leaned against the doorframe. “What adapter?”

“The tape adapter. You know. The...the thing? The...for the l-little tapes, I don’t know what they’re...whatever.”

“Some filmmaker, you don’t even know the right jargon.”

“Shut up. Y-you know what I mean.” He held up the palm sized tape. “Do...do we have the adapter or not?”

“Probably. You want to watch your old movies or something?”

“Kinda m-miss the old camcorder. R...remember how we used to, um, when we’d take it-”

“Everywhere?”

“Y-yeah. Remember the...the beach movie?”

“God. You tried to get underwater shots-”

“And d-dad had to dry it o-off with...with mom’s hairdryer.”

“I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“Right?” Jeremy smiled fondly, setting the tape back in the box. He’d worry about finding the tape adapter later. He had a lot to go through still. But it was nice, finding his center again by discovering what had once been his entire life’s focus. “Remember how, um, how we used to play each other’s love interests?”

“Oh Christ. I did look good in a skirt.”

“You, um, you could have stood to, uh, like, shave though.”

“Hey, screw you, maybe I was a European lady. Don’t push your Eurocentric beauty standards on me, dude.”

“...wait, which...which is it? European or, uh, Eurocentr...Eurocentric standards? You k-kinda contradicted yourself.”

“Just for that, you’re not getting any of my nachos.” Michael swiveled, going back into the kitchen.

Jeremy shook his head, laughing softly, as he pushed his box of old home movies back to its original perch in the closet. He grabbed the tote next to it, dragging it into the living room and idly trailing his finger through the dust.

“When did we get so much stuff?” He called towards the kitchen.

“Beats the shit out of me,” Michael called back.

“H-hopefully there’s, like, some rare, um, some rare beanie babies or, um, s-something in here. That’d be cool.”

Jeremy pried the lid open, a new wave of energy at the prospects of possibly finding something Ebay worthy, or at least something to bring nostalgia and joy.

Instead-

“W-why did we ke...why do we have a box of magazines, Michael?” Though it was a question, it came out flat, oozing in disappointment and annoyance. He picked up an old copy of Seventeen, dust glimmering off of the shiny pages and huffed. Who the hell had even bought Seventeen, let alone had the audacity to bring it into his home? Teen Vogue? Tiger Beat? 

This wasn’t even close to a beanie baby empire! What the hell?

“What? How would I know?”

“Th-this...Rolling Stone? Obviously these are yours.”

Michael stepped back into the room again, hands on his hips as he looked down at Jeremy and the box itself. “Oh yes, you know me,” He said dryly. “I care deeply about keeping up with Leo DiCaprio’s pussy posse and all the other teen hearthrobs. I also care about skin care and fashion do’s and don’ts. You caught me.”

“...p-pussy posse?”

“I mean, look at these great celebrity headlines. Christina Aguilara’s Hairstyling Tutorials. The Olsen Twins Teach You How To Cook.” He tossed each magazine aside as he paraphrased their headlines. “Emily Goransk’s Album Buzz. Marilyn Manson Removes Another Rib. And let’s not forget-”

“Em...Emily G-Goranski?”

“Yeah, and then Marilyn Manson-”

“She’s the, um-”

“He’s the guy that removed a rib so he could blow himself, yeah.”

“I know who he is, Michael! Goranski though. She’s the…” He trailed off, scrunching up his forehead as he tried to remember.

“Kiddy star,” Michael said, thumbing through a copy of People, towards the album reviews. “I think she was an orphan on a ship or something.”

“...NO she was in--well, y-yeah, probably that too, but--f-fuck, what was it…Clementine’s Suicide! That was it!”

“What? That’s not a title, Jeremy. That’s a cry for help. What the fuck?”

“No, it’s this really cool movie, ac-actually, it came out a f-few years ago. I swear...I swear you saw it with me.”

“You make me sit through a lot of shit.”

Jeremy ignored him, smiling as he thought of the movie. “I-it was a solid 9/10 a-actually, like, I c-can’t believe I haven’t...haven’t seen it again recently. Need to r-rewatch it.”

The list of things he’d neglected watching was so numerous that it was beginning to make him a little sick with uneasiness. Still…

“You want to watch a snuff film?”

“What? No, it’s not...it’s actually kind of a comedy. I-it’s hard to...it’s hard to explain, you’ll see. Plus, um, a suicide isn’t a snuff film, for the...that’s not...that’s just someone dying on camera, that’s not Real Snuff.”

“...what the hell, Jer. You and your tangents.”

“I-it’s important!”

Or maybe it wasn’t important. Jeremy shook his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts, return to the present. By diving into the past, he realized, as he reached into the box and pulled out the magazine in question.

Emily Goranski. Smiling the sort of smile that implied someone had whispered an obscene joke. Jeremy felt himself start to smile back, as though facing a real person.

What a stupid automatic response. He struggled to fight against his own grinning, dusting some of the grime off the page to better take in the cover model.

“Didn’t she die?” Michael mused. 

“Did she?” Jeremy knew he was speaking, but wasn’t quite sure what he was responding to. His attention was elsewhere, taking in the dip of low cut clothing over her chest, the way her skirt hit mid-thigh, while her body draped and straddled the backside of what appeared to be a kitchen chair. Her hand caught her chin, elbow against the back of the chair to keep her propped properly. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, just enough into her face that made Jeremy’s finger twitch with the phantom urge to brush it from her eyes, tuck it behind her ear.

Her mark was on display, with the way her arm was positioned.

Blue.

Jeremy froze, the way he always did when facing a blue mark. Blue eyes were common, though, no reason to-

Her eyes were green. More emerald than olive, the sort of shade he felt intimately aware of. He glanced down at his own mark, then back to her eyes in the picture. 

“M-Michael…” He trailed off, eyes back to his own mark, the lines and swirls and patterns. He knew it well, could close his eyes and see the patterns of it imprinted onto the backs of his eyelids.

But he didn’t need to.

All he needed to do was look at the magazine.

And he could see it displayed in identical detail in all ways save for the color right back at him.


	7. Chapter 7

"-the fear now is that the Millennium Bug may cause a malfunction with defense systems globally. Such a malfunction, nuclear experts insisted, would default to missiles erring in the 'off' position. But Jebediah Wilcox, former sociology professor at Nazarene Bible College, insists that-"

"Sir, we're going to need you to listen on headphones if you're going to be watching content on the computers," The librarian gently placed her hand on Rich's neighbor's shoulder. The slumped form of the scraggly haired stranger raised, regarding the librarian with weary eyes.

"We're heading for global disaster, and you're worried about noise complaints?"

"There are other people trying to work, sir."

Rich should have stayed out of it. But, hood pulled over his head, and fingers still hovering over his keyboard, he grinned broadly. "I don't mind."

"See? He doesn't mind." The stranger seemed unfazed by Rich's general appearance.

The librarian took a startled step back.

"Oh!" Her hand rose to her mouth, eyes wide as they moved over Rich's form. Rich tried to be generous. Maybe it was the stains on his shirt that had her looking so appalled and startled. Maybe she recognized him from TV. 

Hell. Maybe it was because he was such a tiny munchkin.

But he could see the patterns she was looking at, the way her eyes moved from the corner of his mouth, to the patch around his temple, to the splotchy patterns arching down his neck. 

And then he felt her eyes move over his chest. And it occurred to him that the burns alone may not be her only source of distress and horror.

Rich removed his hands from the keyboard, folding them, and trying to loosen his tongue from the roof of his mouth to reprimand her for staring at him.

"-the launch of even one of these warheads would be catastrophic."

"Sir, please, can you at least turn it down?" The librarian shook as she regarded the stranger again.

He sighed, heavy, reaching to the separated speakers and turning the volume down to a muffled echo. He looked at Rich, eyes meeting for a moment, before they rolled.

Rich smiled faintly, dropping his arms, and smoothing his fingers over the library keyboard. At least some people were a little bit cool.

The librarian smiled, strained, hand patting the back of the man's chair, before her clipped heels carried her back to the circulation desk.

It was probably a good thing, Rich thought, that the volume had been turned down. It was easier to focus on the chatrooms without listening to report after report of doomsday prophecies.

thickand6rich9: ROFL  
thickand6rich9: i cant imagine

He smiled as the messages started to flood back in.

perfectflower1973: ye  
perfectflower1973: *yes  
perfectflower1973: He seemed perfect  
perfectflower1973: but it was an actual tattoo

thickand6rich9: no fucking way  
thickand6rich9: like  
thickand6rich9: a real tattoo?

perfectflower1973: He copied it based on the one I posted on a yahoo group  
perfectflower1973: I should have known, the colors were off

marinefather4life: You Can't Trust Unmarkeds To Be Trustworthy

Rich's smile slipped. This fucking clown again. His hands started to tap at the keyboard, spanning word after word of response. What a bigoted fucker. What the hell did he know?

perfectflower1973: I don't know about that  
perfectflower1973: It was kind of sweet  
perfectflower1973: And the wedding was really nice

No fucking way. Rich hit the backspace, erasing his thesis of argument towards marinefather4life, and instead regarding flower's tale of romance.

thickand6rich9: wedding??  
thickand6rich9: holy shit  
thickand6rich9: so this guy's the real thing then, flo?

perfectflower1973: I think so  
perfectflower1973: It isn't perfect but what relationship is?

marinefather4life: Mate Relationships Are  
marinefather4life: Why Else Would You Be Still Looking

perfectflower1973: I can't help but wonder  
perfectflower1973: And my husband supports my decision.

This was better than Days of our Lives. Rich stared, open mouthed, at his screen, and forgot exactly why he'd-

"Sir?"

The same librarian from earlier tapped his shoulder. Rich nearly jumped from his skin, as he looked incredulously at the woman.

"Yeah?"

Without meaning to, he immediately glanced at her arm, taking in the mark. Blue, like his, maybe a brighter shade. Incompatible. Thank god.

"Other patrons are waiting to use the computer for work." Her eyes were fixed past his shoulder, awkwardly avoiding eye and facial contact. Rich squared his shoulders, looking at her with a low level of anger.

"And your point?"

"We only allow 30 minute sessions."

"And?"

"You've been on for an hour and a half."

"So?"

She cleared her throat. "...please don't make me call the police."

What the hell? What the hell kind of escalation was that? Rich's mouth fell open once again, the ability to speak evading him for all of three seconds, before coming out in a pinched, shrill rage.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Please watch your tone-"

"Are you serious? I'm doing important work here!" He watched her head turn, take in the computer screen, and judge his lack of actual productivity. Anger welled within him further. He didn't want to throw the stranger under the bus, but he'd been here as long as Rich had, if not longer, and he wasn't doing any work either! Was it Rich's fault the library only had two computers? He was a patron too! He had rights! He...

Was making a big mess out of something that didn't need to be so aggressive. 

Rich's shoulders slumped, the anger draining out of him with the realization that in this hour and a half he hadn't done anything productive besides browse a few news articles, visit a few fan pages for the X-Files, and wasted away on a group chat with a couple of strangers in a similar predicament as himself.

And he hadn't even gotten any tips out of it. Just some juicy gossip from someone that could just as easily have been lying.

He closed out the browser, forcing a smile. 

"Sorry," He tried to push as much charm into his words and his smile as he could. He'd been coached, often, on interview techniques. On disarming the host, on directing the conversation into the direction he wanted. 

Of course, he'd never been really good at it. But suddenly the idea of disappointing another person, scaring another person, distressing another person, left him weak and miserable. He'd need to learn to speak properly, to portray himself well, if he wanted to get with his soulmate.

"I'll just go read quietly, okay? I know that resources are scarce. I'm sorry for-"

"I think you should leave."

Okay.

Nevermind.

"Fuck you too, asshole," Rich stood up, knocking the chair to the ground. He glanced at the computer, considering toppling the monitor as well. Maybe picking it up, flinging it to the wall. "I don't need this fucking place. You should be so lucky, having my patronage! Do you have any idea who the hell I am?"

...wait. No. No, he didn't mean to say that. Why was he still talking? Rich internally tried to reel himself in, as he felt himself yell and kick chairs and point aggressively upward towards the librarian.

Until someone finally did grab him, hefting him up by both arms. Rich kicked his legs angrily, squirming within the man's arms. Not a cop, just a 'concerned customer'. Rich snarled profanity, snapping his teeth as though to bite, but unable to make contact.

He was thrown, quite literally, from the building. And as he tumbled down the library steps, his fall was halted by three bags of garbage set on the curb. And his dazed eyes glanced up, taking in the figures standing on the steps, or looking from the windows, watching yet another fall of Rich Goranski.

Getting banned from the public library may have been a new low, he thought, as he finally found his footing and got up from the curb. He dusted himself off, picking trash from his hair, and mentally figuring out how much he'd recently charged on his debit card.

Because he needed to go somewhere where he could pretend to have friends. Was it too early to go to a bar?

He dragged his feet as he walked, bringing himself to the bus stop and calculating the best place to get off in order to get fully and truly shitfaced.


	8. Chapter 8

"I've been thinking a lot about--oh my GOD, Jer!"

Jeremy quickly threw the covers over himself, the stacks of blockbuster boxes beside his bed toppling over. He flung his binder of photos and research into his lap, as though that would better disguise his boner than the blankets alone, and threw an arm over his eyes, as though not seeing Michael would somehow wipe the image from both of their eyes.

"G-GOD, MICHAEL, HAVE...HAVEN'T YOU HEARD OF KNOCK--FUCK, GET OUT!"

"Sorry! So sorry!" Michael stumbled backwards, the door clipping shut behind him.

Jeremy's heart was racing, his arm falling from his eyes as he anxiously looked at the door. Shame on both of them for not renting a place that had proper locks on the shared bedroom door. Shame on Jeremy for not tying a sock or something to the doorknob to let Michael know to knock.

But really, shame on Michael for not knocking in the first place. Because this wasn't their first rodeo with 'Michael walking in on things he needn't see'. 

Jeremy sighed, his gaze going towards the television again.

Emily smiled, not quite at him, her gaze fixed off-screen to her cinematic love interest. It was destined for tragedy--the blocking made it apparent, along with the colored symbolism, and the fact that Jeremy had already seen this movie five times this weekend alone--but her eyes were so full of hope that it made Jeremy's chest ache.

And his cock throb.

He bit his lip, a sense of uncertainty about how creepy this must be. That he was getting off to her movies.

Or maybe it was creepy how much he'd abused their printer, going to angelfire site after angelfire site, yahoo group after yahoo group, geocities pages and chatrooms and every resource he could find. Hell, he'd gone to the library and used the scantron on old newspapers and magazine articles, to make his makeshift scrapbook that much more complete.

He knew she was a cancer. And she'd been five when they'd cast her in her first sitcom. And that her favorite color was yellow and she had one older brother and numerous other little factoids given to Seventeen and Teen People. 

He knew she had dimples and her characters tended to cover their mouths when they laughed, and that she emoted so naturally that sometimes he'd forget she was his soulmate at all and find himself absorbed so completely in her roles that it was hard to think about anything else for the rest of the day.

He'd gone to the rental place several times since he'd found out, checking out the same movies over and over and running his membership card ragged with each swipe. He knew it was a waste of money that they didn't have, but Michael didn't ask him to stop, and Jeremy wasn't sure he'd have been able to even if he did. He'd need to go on ebay and see about actually purchasing her line of work, he knew that. But there was something nice about being able to rent her, to bring her home in those blue blockbuster boxes and tuck her VHS into the TV with a click and a whir and a Be Kind Please Rewind when it was all neatly wrapped up.

Was it wrong, to be turned on by her then, given that she was made for him?

That seemed a disturbing way to phrase it. Maybe he was the one made for her, after all. Or maybe he was thinking about it in a really one dimensional way. He didn't know her, no matter how much he'd read and glue sticked into place. No matter how often he mouthed along to her lines.

No matter how many nights he spanked it to the slope of her neck, to the elegant way she threw her shoulders back, to her curves and the sway of her hips and the way she lisped every S.

Jeremy pulled his pants back up, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think unsavory, unappealing thoughts until he was certain he was clear. He smoothed the blankets on his bed, turned off the small bedroom TV, then hung his head as he walked back out to the main area of their basement dwelling.

"H-hey," He said, folding his arms around himself. "Sorry, I-"

"SO!" Michael clapped his hands together. "I was thinking-"

"A-about your bu...bunker idea?"

"Huh? No, no, not that. About this bond thing of yours."

"What?"

"The Emily Situation."

"O-oh." Jeremy fussed over his shirt, not daring to meet Michael's gaze. "Have you really?"

"Of course. I mean, for one thing, is this chick even good enough for you?"

Jeremy felt his lip curl in annoyed disbelief as he looked at Michael incredulously. "G-good enough? For me?"

"Yeah, dude. Is she good enough for your standards?"

"She...sh-she's a fucking movie star, Michael. And you...you think she's not g-good enough for me?!"

"Was a movie star. Sort of. None of them were really box office gold, Jer."

"Who g-gives a shit about that?"

Michael held up his hands. "I mean, she's not Drew Barrymore."

"Good."

"And she's not exactly, you know, active anymore."

"She was...she almost died, Michael."

"And are we sure it's really only almost? I mean, no one has heard from her in years, Jer. You said so yourself."

"So what?" Jeremy's chest started to ache, already sensing his implications, because he'd worried about it himself. "You think she might be dead?"

"I don't know. I think we need to be open to all possibilities. And even if she's not, how exactly are we going to find her?"

Jeremy stared at his arm. It wasn't just a pretty, familiar shade of green anymore. It was a sense of home, of belonging, of associations with hollywood brilliance he'd never thought he could be so close to. No wonder he loved movies so much! No wonder he had such a fascination with a perfect screenplay, with artful direction, with a well executed scene! It all made sense now. How could he have ever doubted?

And yet here Michael was, pointing out all the ways it wouldn't work.

...and he was right.

He was right that it wouldn't work. Jeremy's stomach twisted and his face burned. He thought of her pretty face and her natural charisma and the way she could captivate an entire scene that a lesser actor would have made dull and uneventful. 

And then he considered himself. Just yesterday, he'd had his mouth full of dick and he couldn't even remember how he'd justified it as anything other than a sign of gratitude for buying him groceries and lunch. 

He couldn't very well claim it a show of romance now that he knew exactly where his heart belonged. He hadn't even spoken to her yet, but he'd already memorized the pattern of quirks she displayed between films, and though he was terrified of meeting her, speaking with her, he'd have given anything to be beside her right now. He hurt with the desire for it.

And it wasn't meant to be. Michael was right in his reservations, but for all the wrong reasons.

"I know it's never...like, um. I kn-know it's never going to happen, Michael." Jeremy took a seat at the kitchen table, staring at the pile of overdue bills and scraping his fingers through his hair. He'd need to contact some of his more consistent dates, see what he could do as far as earning their affections and favors. Everyone was so good to him, so so good to him, and he was letting everyone down.

He'd let Emily down too.

"I didn't say that."

"Y-you didn't have to. I just...sh-she's incredible, Michael. She's really incre...incredible."

"You don't even know her." Michael took a seat across from him, setting one hand against Jeremy's knee. He squeezed it gently. "Maybe she's a total diva."

"C-cute."

"Not cute, Jer. Scary! When you said your soulmate was a guy, I was so relieved. You're so weird with chicks, dude."

"I'm not that w-weird." Great. Another knot of anxiety. Because yes he was. Yes he fucking was. Talking to girls was...

What was something more dire than impossible? He needed a word for it. He needed to commission someone to invent a new bit of language to describe that task.

"I mean, here I thought we'd be a couple of queens together, but you went and snagged some Beverly Hills Babe who probably paves her driveway with gold bricks from all her melted down Oscars."

"Sh-she never won an Oscar."

"Then klepto'd Oscars from her Hollywood Hills neighbors."

Jeremy shrugged, but a small smile played on his lips. "I...I-I don't even know what to do with this."

"Besides aggressively masturbate?"

"Michael-"

"What? It's true."

"It-it's kind of romantic, right?"

"It's kind of disturbing and gross. But you're non-threatening enough, so I guess that makes it romantic."

"D-disturbing?"

"Just don't use it as an opening line with her, that's all I'm saying."

"I'm n-never even going to-"

"You're soulmates, Jer." Michael clasped his hands against Jeremy's cheeks, squeezing his face together. "Soulmates! We're running out of time here, dude. You really think I'm going to let you let this opportunity go by?"

"She'll n-never-"

"We're going to the library, Jer. You probably missed something."

"W...wait, we?"

"Yeah, we." Michael stood up, circling around idly until he found his shoes. "You think I'm going to let you get distracted and run off to the bathroom to choke the chicken when there's work to be done?"

"Y-you're going to...you're coming with?"

"I just said that, didn't I? It's not like I don't leave the house or something."

Except it was like that. It was exactly like that. Jeremy stared at Michael.

"Are you coming or not?"

"O-oh! Oh, yeah, let me just g-grab my cardigan..."

Maybe...well, even if they never made anything of this, and Jeremy was certain that such a sophisticate would never want anything to do with the likes of Jeremy Heere, maybe it was worth it, just for the push to get Michael up and about.

It had been so long since they'd gone on an adventure together that wasn't through controllers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to update but MY BEST FRIEND MADE A VIDEO FOR THIS CHAPTER AND IT IS THE MOST MARVELOUS, INCREDIBLE, WONDERFUL THING IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CHECK IT OUT. I have the video embedded at the end of the chapter. Honest to god I'm still so excited about this, his style is phenomenal and he poured so much work into this and it's just...please go give it a watch and a like and a comment, it's just out of this fucking world.  
> as for the fic itself, I do hope you guys are enjoying it well enough. It means so much that anyone is reading this. I really appreciate each and every one of you.

“Go to hell!”

Rich hated that he didn’t have a better comeback. But it was satisfying, at least, slamming the receiver down on the prank caller.

At least, it had been satisfying the first time.

Not so much the twelth time.

Rich wanted to glare at something. But Omelette was sunning himself in his line of vision. It was an unreasonably warm early March day, which really meant Rich had no reason to have let the stray in--it wasn’t like he’d freeze out there--but the cat had found himself in all the same. Rich sighed, his expression softening.

“Guess my ad idea was total shit.” He walked over to the cat, gently petting behind his ears. “I mean, unless my soulmate is a routine prankster. That’d be something, wouldn’t it?”

Omelette turned his head, licking Rich’s thumb. Rich laughed fondly.

“You know, I bet a handsome bastard like you is just crawling in mates, huh?” He picked him up, kissing the top of his head. “Isn’t that right, Om? Tons and tons of tail.”

Omelette squirmed, his paw flopping up onto Rich’s cheek. Rich giggled once again.

Sure, he was still a bundle of rage. But he was a bundle of rage with a cute cat in his arms.

“I should probably actually do something productive today, huh?” He kissed the cat’s paw, before setting him down on the armchair. “Maybe I should go out and try job hunting. What do you think, buddy? Think I can scrounge up a job?”

Omelette hardly seemed to have faith in him. He’d begun to groom himself, licking his tail. Rich stripped off his shirt, tossing it into one pile and grabbing a tank top out of a second pile. He slipped it over the black compression top, fluffing it out to make sure the tank didn’t cling too aggressively to his chest. He weaved his fingers through his hair, combing through peroxide blonde and brilliant crimson dyed streak. 

Professional enough.

And for a few hours, he almost felt productive. That maybe he was making something of himself. He went into every dive in town, every greasetrap and bar and retail establishment. He smiled and shook hands and handed out his steadily dwindling stack of resumes (how was he going to print more now that he’d been banned from the library? That was a problem for Future Rich to worry about). He cramped up his hand filling out applications, and spoke with authority and confidence and grace.

And he heard nothing back.

Not

A

Fucking

Thing.

As another week ended on his constant job hunting, Rich threw himself onto his chair, feet propped up on the back, head dangling off the seat. He glared blankly towards the TV he hadn’t bothered to turn on, and strained his hand out to try to grab his remote.

Thank god his neighbors paid their cable bill. Still, a lot of good it did him when his stupid t-rex arms were too puny to reach the fucking remote. He scowled, giving up on that venture, instead fixing his upside down gaze on the aerosol can of processed cheese-

Well.

Processed Cheez.

He was pretty sure it wasn’t actual dairy.

He fumbled with the metal, pulling the can towards himself and almost poetically squirting a long line of flourescent orange directly into his gaping mouth. Weren’t these supposed to be served with crackers? He frowned, fumbling around for a pack of generic Ritz, and pouring the crumbs of the near empty pack into his cheez-filled mouth.

There. Now it was a proper meal.

For once Rich was grateful for Omelette’s absence. He didn’t need to be judged right now.

He didn’t need anyone’s judgement.

In fact, who were these supposed “job creators” to judge him? Who’d they think they were? His boss or something? No! They definitely weren’t! They were really missing out. He was a hard worker! He was great with people! He, like, only occasionally stole food on the clock. Those were all tenants of American Ingenuity, American Innovation, American, like, Gumption or Whatever.

He sprayed more Cheez into his mouth, toes bobbing back and forth in frantic, restless energy. 

He wanted a drink.

No.

He wanted to get laid.

No.

He wanted a purpose.

No.

He wanted someone to bust his face in and remind him that he was alive.

...well.

Maybe?

Rich dropped the can, letting it roll underneath the chair and rolling onto his stomach, his hands landing on the floor. He pushed against it, curling his legs at the same time, until he was kneeling on the chair. His head spun with the abrupt switch in position, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to fight vertigo.

When was the last time he’d gotten good and truly devoted to a fight?

“I’m not seriously going to go out and pick a fight with someone.” Rich wasn’t sure why he said it outloud, except perhaps to try to hear the absurdity of it. Because it was absurd. Idiotic. Definitely not what he needed.

He glanced down at his arm. His mark glittered up at him, a sense of judgement and head-shaking disapproval. His soulmate would not want him to be the type of guy who recklessly attacked others.

Even though he’d totally only find someone who deserved it, so it was okay. And kind of noble. Like, superhero sort of noble. Not Clooney Bat Nipples noble, but Val Kilmer noble.

...no, Rich, just because you played an orphan on TV didn’t make you Batman.

But still!

Rich traced his finger over the mark. “If you’d just call me--I put out a seriously classy fucking advertisement, dude, if you’d just buy a newspaper--then we could forget this totally awesome plan and do someth-”

His phone was ringing.

His phone was ringing!

HIS PHONE WAS RINGING.

Rich flopped onto the floor, fingernails scratching at the unvacuumed carpeting. He pulled himself up, crashing through a pile of clothing and grabbing the phone off the hook. “YEAH? Hey! Hi! Yeah, this is Rich, hi!”

“Are you satisfied with your long distance serv-”

“Are you fucking SHITTING me right now? Man, eat an entire dick, you fucking clown!” 

That was a little rude. He was just doing his job. But he still slammed the phone back into its cradle, chest heaving with every angry breath. It was uncalled for and mean and knowing that just made him more angry. 

So why not find someone who actually deserved it instead?

Why not grab a quick beer from the fridge, chase it with some capital c Cheez, and then hit the town and bruise up his fists?

Rich moved in a haze, a fog of anticipation and mutinous fury. He flexed his fingers, the tight spandex of the athletic shirt underneath his tank digging into his ribs and his chest. Holding him down, displaying the illusion of pecs, and certainly making him a formidable opponent.

Except for once he wasn’t hyper-focused on his looks. Instead he was scanning for faces. Picking out potential opponents, discarding the innocent or weak or elderly or the remarkably few smaller than himself. He needed someone meaty and violent and deserving of some poetic justice.

...as it turned out, haunting the town mid-day for a proper fight triggered quite the appetite.

Maybe Rich could take a break. His gait grew more relaxed, going from stiff armed swagger to a casual saunter. He turned the corner, approaching one of the handful of cafes that actually offered outdoor seating. 

And with any luck-

His eyes zeroed in on an empty table, the tabletop set with half-eaten pastries and sandwiches and he wasn’t really so low as to-

“Jackpot.”

Who the hell was he kidding? Of course he was that low! He was practically microscopic.

Jumping the small dividing fence that separated the outside seating from the general public sidewalk, he straddled one of the cafe chairs, spinning it around to face the table and grabbing one of the partially devoured sandwiches--he was pretty sure it was a panini but he also didn’t know what a panini actually was, so who could be certain?--and not even bothering to make sure no one was looking before taking a large, hearty bite.

Rich cradled the sandwich with one hand, the other grabbing a glass of what he was nearly certain was pink lemonade, and taking a swig.

And he tried to make a plan of action.

Maybe fighting wasn’t the best plan. Maybe he’d just been hungry. Maybe the real smart thing to do would be eat his meal, and then go inside and ask for an application--no, demand an application--NO! Demand a JOB! Yes! He’d been too meek, that was the problem. He needed to show some backbone. Needed to be assertive!

There was probably some lesson from his sitcom days that he could draw from, in order to fake his way to the top.

He set down the sandwich, grabbing a croissant instead and stuffing half of it into his mouth. Deciding it could have used jelly, he tore the wrapper off a single serve pat, arching his neck back and slithering it in with his half-chewed bite of bread. He swallowed it all dry, chasing it after with another drink of probably-lemonade.

“-and I k-know what the..um, I know what the “aca, um, academic” answer is. But it’s wrong.”

Rich paused, glancing out of the corner of his eye to try to pinpoint where all levels of conversation were coming from.

“You can’t just say “it’s wrong” like that’s a valid argument, Jer. You have to actually have an argument.”

“Why? Y-you pull that crap all the, um, all the time.”

“Well yeah, but that’s because I’m right. You’re talking about something super subjective.”

“ _Philia_ was a b-better movie than _Thanks For Nothing_ but e-everyone thinks of the...the s-soundtrack from _TfN_ a-and disregards the use of, um, silence as-”

“This pretentious shit again.”

“-as an a-artistic choice. It’s haunting, Michael.”

Rich’s blood wasn’t exactly cold. It was more that it felt solid. His eyes grew wide, fingers stilling as his arms numbly jerked forward, setting down what food remained in his grip.

Because it was funny. The funniest fucking thing.

But it sounded like they were talking about…

“What’s haunting is how many times you’ve chafed yourself over Emily Goranski in twenty four hours.”

“Sh-shut up.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Oh shit, there was-

“No fucking way,” Rich whispered, finally remembering how to blink, his eyes stinging from how wide he’d had them held. He turned, openly staring at the duo discussing Emily’s--discussing his movies.

It was a pair of them, two boys--no, they had to be Rich’s age at least (which didn’t make him think of them as any older, he realized idly)--hunched over a shared plate of food, and two glasses of water which left condensation rings on the table. The larger of the two, glasses and red hoodie, might have had the worst posture Rich had ever seen--at least until he looked to the other one.

No. That was the worst posture he’d ever seen. The slender brunette hunched upon his elbow, leaning forward and pressing his chin against his palm, his teeth occasionally nervously touching against his lip in a way that alternated between alluring and frustrating. He fidgeted, shifting back and forth against the metal chair as though he was unable to get comfortable with his own bones. His back bowed, as his other hand reached out to casually stir his straw around his melting ice. His eyes were downcast, as he seemed to choose his words carefully, despite the stumble and stammer to his tone.

“She...sh-she’s really got a gift, Michael.”

“Oh Christ, this again.”

Before him, Rich realized, lay an open binder. That was where his attention was fixed. Rich scooted in his chair, scraping it against the cement to try to get a better look.

Only to catch sight of his own face, unmarred and unmelted, smiling from some shoot from some set that he couldn’t quite place.

“Unfuckingreal,” Rich breathed. Neither boy seemed to notice him.

“I-I’ve never seen...th-the sort of desperate s-sadness she’s able to capture, it’s so relatable, and-”

“Yeah, that’s really a good foundation to build a-”

“-a-and I th...think she’s...E-Emily’s a real visionary.”

“Emily?” Rich said. “Emily Goranski?”

Now they noticed. Two pairs of eyes, one set bespeckled, glanced towards him with a slow sort of bewilderment.

“That bitch is a total hack, dudes. Absolute joke.”

“What?” The larger boy said dumbly, bright brown eyes looking Rich over with a cursory swipe.

“Excuse me?” The other said in nearly the same moment. No stutter. His eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits, mouth pressed together in an angry, thin line.

“Philia is the biggest pile of pretentious pig shit I’ve ever seen.” Rich pulled himself out of his chair, casually strolling over to their table. He placed his knuckles against it, leaning forward as he smiled wryly at the smaller boy (smaller compared to his friend--Rich could tell even from this position that, were he standing, he would have been significantly taller, if thinner, than Rich). “What was with the bathtub scene? Please. The lilies? That director was smoking crack.”

Actually, he had been.

Good dude.

“What do...what do you know?” Though he stumbled over it, the rage hadn’t yet bled from his face. His body was stiff in his chair, a small tremor passing through his arms.

Rich’s smile snaked wider, as he grabbed one of the chips from their shared plate. “It’s like I’m saying,” He popped it into his mouth with an obnoxious crunch. “Any decent actress would have read that script and ran. Or, you know, brought something new to the table. But not Emily. Oh no, no no no, she had to play the doe-eyed innocent shit. It’s not just pretentious, it’s-” What was a good arthouse word? Oh, right! “Derivative.”

“I-it was a subversion and-”

“Subversion? That’s what we’re calling it?” He turned around, back against the table. He placed his palms against it, pulling himself up until he was sitting on the table top, his legs dangling. His eyes remained fixed on the other boy’s, but he was hardly seeing anything, save for the joy of digging into an argument he’d burrowed into for no sensible reason. “Everything is so subversive when it’s convenient. The bitch can’t act for shit.”

“D-don’t call her a bitch. And don’t-”

“She’s a bitch! She’s a Bi-i-i-itch! And she can NOT fucking ACT! She’s probably some wacked out junkie now, if she didn’t turn into bacon in that fucking fi-”

The pain was sharp and sudden and stinging. 

And the sound resounded after the fact. A sharp staccato slap.

Rich’s neck hurt from how sharply his head turned from the action. His world spun, and once again he felt dizzy. He rolled his jaw, letting it pop, before turning his face back to look at the boy who’d decided to put hands on him.

His hand was still extended, as though he didn’t quite believe for himself what he’d just done. A red hue splotched over his cheeks, and his nostrils were flared with every breath. He’d pulled himself out of his seat, standing on matchstick legs, knees only slightly curved inward in an awkward disbelief.

He was hardly a fighter, that much was certain.

Still, there’d been a lot of rage in that slap. It was almost impressive.

“You...y-you’re a...shut up.”

“Jer…” The other boy said softly, horror and disbelief and maybe a slight nudge of embarrassment in his voice. Rich glanced at him for a moment, deciding him a non-threat, before throwing himself off the table.

He moved up to the other boy--this “Jer” character--and bumped his chest against him--or tried to, though it was difficult given the height difference. His hands were held out on other side of him, a universal stance offering himself for the Fight Of A Lifetime. Some real Mike Tyson shit. His eyes flickered to the boy’s ears, then decided against biting.

Actually, he was starting to think fighting itself was a bad idea. This boy was frail and soft and...no, in good consciousness, Rich couldn’t-

This time, the hand which connected was a closed fist.

Rich stumbled back, as the other whimpered. Clearly he wasn’t used to the sensation of knuckles connecting with bone, and Rich almost felt bad. Almost.

Except he’d just been punched in the fucking face.

“You just punched me in the fucking face!”

Rich was nothing if not observant.

“You creepy, weirdo, scrapbooking nancy boy, you fucking...what the hell?!” Rich nursed his jaw with his palm for a moment, before a small laugh escaped him. 

Well.

He’d wanted a fight.

“Y-you’re a...you’re the bitch!”

“What?” He hadn’t even called him a bitch. What was he on about?

Oh right. A call back to the Emily thing. Seriously? Some people took their celebrity worship too damn far.

“You’re a...y-you’re a bitch!” And then he was on top of him, more fingernail and claw than fist.

“Jeremy!” The other chair scooted back, and for a moment Rich wondered if the other boy was going to pick it up and slam it over his body. He wasn’t going to allow that, though. Too fast. He grabbed his opponent by the arms, flipping them around until he was on top of him. The boy--Jeremy--glared up at him, and Rich smiled, leaning in closer.

“All her director fucking and she still couldn’t get an Academy nomination. How pathetic can you-”

Jeremy yanked one hand free from Rich’s grip, grabbing him by the throat. It wasn’t a hard choke, but startling enough to flip their positions. Rich squirmed, finding himself on his back, the right side of his body pressed up against the fence, as Jeremy flailed and whacked at him.

It wasn’t particularly painful. 

But it was confusing.

Confusing and frustrating and Rich snarled, prodding and smacking back at him. His fingernails dug at the flimsy little sweater he had draped over himself, the hem popping and ripping loose, until the sleeve left his arm exposed, dangling from his wrist.

“Sh-she’s an a-angel and you’re...you’re a dumb, stupid, dumb-”

“You’re just repeating yourself, bucko.”

“IDIOT and y-you’re...you...shut up!”

His eyes had gone from angry slits to shiny, wide. They matched the sky, an overcast sort of blue that all at once sucked the breath from Rich.

His body stilled, arm still raised in mid-attack, as he stared at the boy’s face. The suppleness of his skin, the pout of his lips when they weren’t snarling and baring his teeth with every stammered insult, and most importantly, his eyes.

Blue.

Not a baby blue, soft and innocent. Not a sapphire blue, focused and radiant.

The sort of blue of storm clouds and contemplative melancholy. The sort of blue of…

“FUCK!” Jeremy had slapped him again, and Rich’s thoughts scattered for a moment. He pushed against his chest. “Stop for a second, Rambo, jesus christ, wait! This can’t be...wait, hold on.”

“Y-you’re a-”

“Stupid idiot dummy or something, yeah yeah, I know, I know, I--here,” His fingers closed easily around Jeremy’s wrist, as he tugged upon it. He struggled, starting to stammer some protest. “Just--just WAIT a second, squirmy! I’m trying to see something here.”

The emerald of his mark knocked what little breath Rich had straight from his lungs. And he forgot how to blink again. It was almost eerie, to see the color so familiar in his mirror in the morning, reflecting back to him from this boy’s arm.

“L-let go of me!”

Rich released his hold, wordlessly trying to meet his gaze. But he was looking away, eyes darting back and forth, his body still straddling Rich’s. Rich propped himself up on his right elbow, as he held out his left arm, palm up, until he was certain his mark was visible.

The pressure around his hips, where the other was centered, was fidgety and restless, but as Jeremy’s eyes finally moved over his arm, past the scars and destruction to the matching blue of his soul-mark, everything grew still.

“You…?” 

“Yeah.” Rich laughed shakily. “Um.”

“W-wow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I didn’t--I’m...um.”

“Yeah,” Rich grinned. “Yeah, I kno-”

“Don’t worry, Jer! I got him!” The sound of shuffling feet should have been a warning, if the words themselves weren’t. 

But Rich was staring at his...at his…

And then the toe of scuffed converse kicked sharply against his temple. And his vision went hazy and grey.

Unfuckingreal.

Distantly, he heard his soulmate shriek. But Rich was too busy releasing his hold on consciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

It figured, Jeremy finally met his soulmate, and Michael had to go and give him a traumatic brain injury.

He sat at their table, nursing his head in his hands, occasionally stealing drinks from Jeremy's glass. Jeremy looked over him, the dye in his hair, the pout of his lips, the slant of his neck, and it was a familiar but thrillingly new vision.

"I don't trust him," Michael said bluntly. And Jeremy narrowed his eyes, once more on the defensive.

"What are you tal...talking about?"

"He picks a fight with you, in public-"

"I h-hit him first."

"And now I'm the bad guy because he happens to be a green eyed boy who vaguely resembles Goranski?'

"And has my mark. A-and no one said you're a bad...um, a bad guy. Don't be so dramatic."

"It might not be a perfect match," Michael said simply. "Our marks are nearly identical-"

"Y-yours is backwards."

"Maybe that's a symbol! To show that opposites attract or something."

"W-we're not even opposites. And, um, and your eyes a-aren't gr...green."

Jeremy had offered these arguments countless times.

It was still uncomfortable every time Michael brought it up. The similar patterns, the unique parallels, between his mark and Michael's.

"B-besides, you don't want...I'm a mess, you should be glad we're not soulmates."

"Whatever I want doesn't matter! A fit is a fit."

Jeremy considered their friendship. Years spent aligned together, years of video games and movie marathons. He'd been there for Michael through everything, and he for Jeremy. And their marks really were similar, it was true. Eerily similar. Familiar patterns and lines, and Michael's was even a shade of blue.

"...i-if you don't want me to...I'll t-tell him to kick rocks, if you, um, if you really don't want me to pursue this."

Michael stared at him through his glasses, incredulous and silent.

And Jeremy thought of That Night. 

Michael had come home from class late. Which wasn't so strange, for him to lose track of time, to fall so easily into patterns of classwork and new peers.

College had been so good for Michael.

Until it wasn't.

"There was an attack."

That was how he'd phrased it. There was an attack. Something abstract. Outside of himself.

An attack.

Jeremy had thought it was some sort of terrorist. Maybe a Waco situation. The unibomber. Something globally significant, but clinically removed from their own little slice of New Jersey suburbitude.

And then he'd seen how pale Michael was. The way he wobbled on his own feet. The way his blood contrasted against his face. Oddly neat. Jeremy had realized if he was filming it, he'd have inserted more blood. Thrown some hysterical crying effect over the scene in poist.

But this wasn't a movie.

Michael had held the tatters of his shirt closed and Jeremy had seated him on the couch, and Michael wouldn't shed a tear until he warbled that they'd taken his discman.

"It was a limited edition import, in the original Russian," Michael had sobbed, burrowing into Jeremy's shoulder. His bloody nose had left stains in Jeremy's clothes.

He'd ended up throwing out the shirt. And they'd eventually replaced the CD.

And Michael took a gap semester. That became a gap year. That became an indefinite hiatus.

And they'd been all they'd needed since. That and Jeremy's chronic dating and Michael's perpetual doomsday prepping.

The perfect team.

Who could ever need anything more?

So if Michael wanted to keep things just the two of them, just the two of them and their poor coping mechanisms, then--Jeremy's chest tightened painfully as he resolved himself to his fate--who was he to say no?

Hadn't Michael been through enough, after all?

"What, are you stupid or something?" Michael spoke sharply. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Not even close. But you do need to be careful."

"Man, you must have lead in those shoes," His soulmate groaned, an exhausted whine to his lisp, as he rubbed his head. Jeremy attention briefly touched on, before he finally looked back at Michael.

He grinned sheepishly. "So you approve?"

"I don't know him yet."

"Y-you'll give him a chance?"

"I-"

Jeremy's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's r-really cute, isn't he?"

"He's okay."

Jeremy threw his arms around Michael, hugging him tightly. "Th-thank you," He murmured into his ear.

"Yeah yeah. Hey," MIchael looked towards the small man who was still tenderly touching his temple. "I'm, like, watching you, pal."

"Cool." He drained a long drink of water.

"And I'll see you at home," Michael added, regarding Jeremy questioningly.

"Y-yeah, of course, but um. But you don't have to leave."

"I'd rather not watch you two fight-foreplay again." Michael laughed, pulling his headphones off from around his neck and placing them over his ears. "Be careful."

"I will."

"Stay in public, in case he's a weirdo."

Jeremy's lips burned with protest. But he just rolled his eyes instead. "I will."

"Good. Be safe."

Michael afforded the other boy a brief glance, before he began to walk away.

Jeremy watched him a moment, toeing the ground, then walking towards the table. He could feel his eyes follow him, and he blushed, leaning down to pick one of the toppled chairs off the ground to take a seat.

"Hi," He breathed softly.

"Hey."

"Hello."

"Yo."

Jeremy laughed, a nervous, choked little giggle. "I'm Jeremy."

"Yeah, Kung Fu Fury, so I've heard. I'm..." He trailed off, eyes moving towards the open binder. The newspaper clippings and production stills and magazine covers. "I guess you already know me," He sounded dazed as he said it.

Jeremy's face burned in horrified shame. "I-"

"Rich."

"Huh?"

"My name." He grinned. "it's Rich. Richard. Dick. Whatever." He leaned forward, as though conspiratorially. "You can get all those cutesy petnames in."

"Rich," Jeremy tested the name. His pulse jumped, and his face flushed.

"I guess it'll take some getting used to, though." Rich glanced down at his hands. "Being used to Emily and all."

"I like this more."

"Yeah?"

"Y-yeah. It's..." Jeremy trailed off, giggling in a way that couldn't be described in any other way but flirty. "Manly."

"That's me. A real rugged-ass dude."

"I, um, I always knew...um, a-always knew that my soulmate would be a guy." Jeremy admitted softly. He grabbed the binder, easing it closed.

Rich's expression softened, as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought you'd be a chick."

Jeremy squirmed nervously. "Are, um, are you disappointed?"

"No." Rich toyed with his fingertips. "Are you?"

"G-god no!"

"Cool." Rich looked him over. Jeremy tried to straighten his posture, to look more appealing. "Sorry for, like, fucking you up."

"Huh?"

"Beating you up."

He should have read some articles on How To Flirt.

Because he was fairly certain laughing at Rich wasn't the right response.

It escaped him all the same.

"B-but I beat you up!"

Rich puffed up, almost indignant, though his expression looked mostly amused. "Bullshit, dude. I annihilated you."

"Y-you ripped my cardigan, I'll, um, I'll, like, um...sh-shit, sorry...I'll give y-you that."

"What're you sorry for?"

"Stutter. I kn-know it's, um, it's super a...it's annoying."

"Piss off with that. I think you're adorable."

They both glowed pink, looking down. Rich laughed nervously. 

"It's been awhile since I've, like, flirted."

"Y-you're doing really good."

"You think?"

"Uh huh."

"I just--shit, this isn't a real date though, dude!"

"Huh?"

Rich jumped up out of his chair, grabbing both of Jeremy's hands once he was upright. "Dude. You deserve a date. A real date. Gimme your digits."

"Huh?"

"Your phone number."

"What?"

"So I can call you and ask you out." Rich moved so quickly that Jeremy felt like his orbit was out of wack.

"You...um. B-but I'm right here."

"And you deserve to be romanced." Rich squeezed Jeremy's hands. "I gotta plan something, yo."

"I-"

"I mean, you know, if you want."

"If I want?"

"If you want me to ask you out."

"...a-are you asking me for permission t-to ask me out?"

"No duh."

What a convoluted, complicated, unnecessarily complex way to go about this.

Jeremy's heart was nearly tearing through his chest in his complete and utter puppy dog infatuation already.

"So? What'll it be, Jeremy?"

"O-oh! Oh, y-yeah, I can...l-let me give you my number."

Jeremy cradled Rich's arm in his hands, as Rich handed him a pen. For a moment, his eyes took in the scars, the painful history printed so plainly into his flesh.

His research had dug up so little, considering what a catastrophic event it had been. A studio fire, in the midst of Rich's last film project. Four had died, and Rich had been hospitalized, and rumors had vacillated on the extent of the damage.

Clearly, the burns had been extensive, given the scarring. Jeremy tried to bury his curiousity. Not his place. Not a story for him to dissect.

Not yet, at least.

His eyes moved from the scars to the mark instead, familiar blue sparkling at him.

He had to shake his head to snap out of it, clicking the pen and scribbling his phone number into Rich's palm.

Rich's fingers fluttered, and he grinned broadly. Boyishly.

Handsomely.

Jeremy's chest ached.

"This is seriously dope. I'm going to romance the crap out of you, just you wait." he paused, amending. "I mean, you know, in a good way. I'm going to romance your pants off."

"O-oh." Jeremy was still holding his arm. He couldn't bring himself to let him go. Rich was warm and his skin was soft but the muscle underneath was so hard, toned, and Jeremy burned with the desire to feel more of his body. "I'll, um, leave my belt off then. So they, uh, so they come off easier."

Wait!

"B-but I'm not a slut!"

Rich snorted. "You're funny. I like you."

He liked him.

Jeremy lit up. And he was certain he was floating the entire time Rich walked him back home, losing himself in an ease of banter that he'd never thought possible.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hi."

Rich flopped into his chair, cradling the phone to his ear. "Hi!"

"H-hey."

"Hellooo."

All he did was stretch out the last syllable. And it earned a laugh. Rich beamed. "So."

"S-so."

"Yeah."

"Y-yeah. I mean, um. Hi."

"Hi yourself, stud."

Another laugh. Rich played with the phone cord and shot a thumbs up to Omelette.

"What, um, what's up?"

"Not much. Talking to a major cutie." A third laugh! Holy shit! Rich's pulse pattered recklessly, and he kicked his legs with glee. "What about you?"

"Um. P-pretty much the, um, same thing."

"Yeah?"

"Y-yeah."

"Cool."

"Yeah, I know, it's, um, it's really neat."

"For sure." Rich squirmed around, laying sideways in the chair, his legs flopped over the arm. "Are you thinking of making me a reference book?"

"Huh?"

"You know. You have the Emily Almanac. But-"

"O-oh! God, you must think I'm so...I s-saw the mark in a magazine, and I...I just..."

"Wanted to know everything?"

"Yeah."

"Don't worry. I don't think you're creepy. But I don't have a Jeremy binder, so how am I going to learn all about you?"

"I d-don't know. I don't, um, I don't have any fan zines dedicated to me."

"That's dumb. We should fix that."

"N-no one would want that."

"I do." Rich closed his eyes, savoring the mental picture of Jeremy's face. Those pretty blue eyes, and soft lips. The halo of curls framing his head. He thought of how nice it had been walking him home, and the feeling of heat radiating from his hand. How badly Rich had wanted to hold it.

"I wanna know everything about you."

"Like, um, what?"

And so the like what's happened.

Rich drank in every detail. The easy ones, the generic ones--his last name was Heere, he was 19 years old--to the career and educational--he'd dropped out of high school, he worked as a freelance personal assistant-

"What does that even mean?"

"Huh?"

"Freelance PA. What do you actually do?"

"Um. I bring j-joy."

Rich laughed softly. "Yeah, I can see that."

But his real passion was--

"Film?"

"Y-yeah. I um...I want to do it all, to be honest. I need to, um...I have a lot of work, and n-need to focus some more on, um, writing. I'm a little weak on structure a-and consistent tone on paper, if I'm...if I'm honest. I just...I get so many ideas, and--an-anyway, that's boring."

"No it's not."

He could hear Jeremy's smile through the phone. "I w-want to direct. And to act. To...god. I want to do everything."

And so a quick cursory phone call became hours upon hours of delving into passions, into history, into the quirky short films Jeremy had made in his youth, into the vexing personal projects he wanted to tackle but needed to ‘hone his skills’ before he dared to touch.

Which lead into Rich talking about his own experience in the industry, albeit only briefly. Touches onto his own history with directors. With skimpy scripts. With costars far beyond his years and talents and-

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Jeremy had protested. “Y...you’re an amazing actor.”

Rich curled the phone cord around his finger and shrugged casually. “It was another life. And I wasn’t anything special.”

“You...y-you...you c-clearly put a lot of work into your craft.”

“You’re just a fanboy with a crush.”

“D-doesn’t make it any less true.” Jeremy had hesitated a moment, adding, “Wh...what I’d give to have a talent like y-yours to work with. I’ve only ever done things with...w-well, with Michael and me.”

“Maybe we can collaborate sometime.”

“Y-you really mean that?”

Rich’s stomach turned nervously. He hadn’t done anything cinematic since the fire. Hell, he barely even watched movies anymore.

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

He directed the conversation away from it though--little details. Favorite colors. Fond memories. Favorite animals. Favorite books-

“You read?”

“I’ve got a serious boner for Ray Bradbury.”

“O-oh my god, you’re a sci-fi dork?”

“I’m a sophisticate for speculative fiction, you fuck.”

They’d giggled and Rich had beamed so widely that he was sure his face would tear from the pressure of his own joy.

They talked and they laughed, they swapped stories and built the foundation for inside jokes to come. Rich felt himself internally craft a shelf to house all of his new Jeremy Heere factoids and interests.

“O-oh, it’s almost midnight.”

“What?” Rich glanced around, only to realize his house was dark. He’d never bothered to turn on the lights, instead settling into his chair and draping himself in the warmth of conversation. “Shit, really?”

“Y-yeah. I, um. I guess I should let you go.”

“Yeah, I guess I should leave you wanting more. Leave something to the imagination.”

“This...th-this was really nice. I, um...I hope I didn’t bore you.”

“You think I would have stayed on the phone this long if you were boring?”

“I-I don’t know. M-maybe. You m...might have been humoring me.”

Rich scoffed. “That’s something a nice person would do. I’m a dickhead, Jeremy.”

“N-no you’re not.”

“A little bit.” His voice grew softer, as he looked at the mark on his arm, denoting him as Jeremy’s, and Jeremy as his. Was it the bond itself making conversation so compelling, or was it the excitement that came along with finding your bond? He was sure there were interesting articles on the topic, but maybe he didn’t want to research. Maybe he just wanted to throw himself into this and learn on his own. Figure it out.

Figure Jeremy out.

Because he was really liking what he was finding already. 

“I won’t be to you though. A dickhead, I mean. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to be nicer. For you.”

“Y-you don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

“Yeah, well, who even knows what a ‘self’ is anyway? But really, dude, like...um, this was really fun.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. And--shit. I never actually asked you out, did I?”

“That’s ok-”

“It’s not. I have to charm you, remember?”

“I’m already ch-charmed.”

“Man, what’s the opposite of a tough crowd? Because you’re way too easy to please.”

Why was that? Hadn’t Jeremy ever been properly coveted and praised? He certainly deserved to be courted.

And Rich was doing a terrible job of engaging in it. But damn if he wasn’t going to try.

“Listen. Are you doing anything this Saturday?”

“U-um no, I don’t, um--Michael!” His voice was muffled, and Rich realized he had his hand over the phone, as he shouted off. “Michael, are we doing anything Saturday? --because Rich asked!--NO I think he’s asking me out on a date! A real date! M-me! Can you be...believe it? I’m f-freaking out!--”

Rich grinned, realizing Jeremy must not have been aware that the sound would seep through. He decided against calling him out on it, as the phone rustled and Jeremy’s voice came in clearer again.

“N-nothing on Saturday, no.”

“Cool. Maybe I could take you out or something.”

“L-like a date?”

“Like a date.”

“Y-yes! Yeah, yes, I’d, um, I’d really like that.”

“But don’t expect me to do that hard to get shit,” Rich said. “I’m still going to be calling you every day up until then. I need to get you well and truly bored of me before we’ve ever even had a real outing.”

“I d-doubt I could e...ever get bored of you, Rich.”

Hearing his soulmate...hearing Jeremy say his name was a drug unlike any other. Rich glowed, and realized the smart thing would be to finish up the conversation, as they’d already been planning, and end the night on a high note.

They stalled and talked for another two hours before Jeremy’s friend finally shouted at him that he needed to get off the phone line because he wanted to check his email. 

“G-guess I really better-”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You a morning person?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll call you mid-afternoon. Wish you a good morning.”

“You don’t h-have to.” There was a brief pause. “B-but I’d really like that.”

“Good! Nothing says morning perk me up like your daily dose of lisping limericks.”

Which lead to another fifteen minutes of stalling, before Jeremy really was cajoled off of the phones. Rich laughed, even after the phone had been hung up, laying back in his dark trailer, and clicking his tongue until the cat trotted over to him.

“He’s a real cutie, huh, Om?”

The cat meowed at him, and leapt into his lap. And Rich was so excited about returning the phone call the next day that he could scarcely sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re just going to cancel on me?”

To go from using the phone to talk to Rich, to using it to reach out to this week’s previously planned dates, was such a head spinning shift in behavior that Jeremy had to take a seat. He perched on one of the kitchen chairs, his voice a small murmur.

“S-something came up.”

“Something came up,” He repeated mockingly.

“I…”

“I don’t normally give second chances, kid, but I’ll give you five seconds to change your point of view and confirm our plans.”

“I-”

“Of course, I’ll have to cut what you would have been getting.”

“C-cut?”

“I think by 30%. This is so unprofessional-”

“A d-date is unprofessional?’

The man laughed. “Date. That’s precious.” his voice sharpened as he dropped the chuckle. “You will meet me at our agreed upon spot on Friday or-”

Jeremy’s throat was full of bile as he disconnected the call with a press of his thumb against the talk button.

Three cancellations down.

Only seven to go.

Because he couldn’t very well be dating anyone else when-

“Hey, Jer? When’s your payday again?” Michael strolled into the kitchen, idly glancing through the cabinets.

“H-huh?”

“We need to go grocery shopping.”

Grocery shopping.

Payday.

Obligations--obligations to their home…

...to Michael…

Jeremy stared at Michael. If he just explained, maybe they could figure something out.

Because these dates had been his primary source of income. Little favors from men old enough to be his father. If he just explained, though, phrased it in all the right way, they could figure something out. Maybe figure out some part time jobs or-

Michael couldn’t juggle a job right now.

He’d had one, Jeremy knew. Before That Night. He’d had a part time job at a record store, and he’d really seemed to enjoy it. Had flourished in it, in setting up the displays and choosing the mood music and setting customers up with just the right sounds that they hadn’t even realized they’d needed.

But after That Night, he’d been unable to leave the house for two weeks. Two weeks of No Call No Shows.

And he’d begged Jeremy not to go in, to try to explain, to try to reverse the decision. “I just need some time,” He’d said, “and I’ll find something else.”

That was the last that had been said on the subject. Jeremy knew better than to broach it. Michael needed time to heal.

And now, now he was so convinced the world was ending, that he probably didn’t see any long term potential in employment.

And Jeremy…

Jeremy was only good at one thing. And even that he wasn’t terribly great at, given how many of his dates dropped out halfway through the evening, saddled him with bills or in destitute neighborhoods. The idea of working a consistent job left his chest raw and his anxiety buzzing and he knew it was ludicrous, to be so tightly uneasy, but it didn’t stop the nausea and panic.

Besides. He still needed to get his GED. What kind of work could a high school dropout really expect to get?

Jeremy’s chest rattled painfully with every terrified pulse of his heart. As the reality of their situation began to peak its head into his cotton candy cloud idealism.

“I lost...l-lost my job.” That didn’t work with his cover, though. He tightened the lie up. “I-I mean, my b-biggest client. He doesn’t need a...a caretaker-” Personal assistant!” “-a PA anymore.”

“And he just dropped you?”

Jeremy didn’t cry.

He didn’t cry. But a choked sound escaped him all the same, as his head fell into his hands. He couldn’t look at Michael. Couldn’t acknowledge himself. Couldn’t move as he stooped over, shaking as the dire reality crashed over him.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry! I-”

“Jer-”

“I l-let us both down. L-let you down. I...I’ll f-figure something out, I’ll, um, I’ll get something else, I-”

“Jeremy.” Michael knelt before him, taking his hands and drawing them away from his head. He squeezed them, looking at Jeremy worriedly, big brown eyes full of compassion and concern. “Jeremy, it’s okay.”

“I-it’s not-”

“Yes it is. It’s not that dire. It’s not the end of the world.”

They were both quiet for a moment, before Michael’s small laugh broke the spell. “Okay. Technically, yes, we ARE living through the end of the world. But not because you lost your job.”

“M-maybe this is the catalyst that, um, that unravels everything,” Jeremy said, voice small, but smiling just slightly.

Michael snorted. “Maybe. Doubtful though. Look. It’s okay. I’ll reach out to my parents, see if they can lend up something until the end of the month. We can get through this.”

“Y-yeah, but-”

“We’ll be fine.”

“But-”

“I’ll be fine.” Michael stood up, pulling Jeremy out of his seat and grinning at him. “You needed a vacation anyway. Between work and dates and worrying about me-”

“I-I haven’t been worrying,” Jeremy lied.

“Uh huh. You’re such a mom.”

“I-I’m not!”

“You’re probably going to breastfeed Rich.”

Jeremy glowed red, and felt himself warm internally at the same time--not at the prospect of breastplay, but because Michael was so casually bringing up Rich. Like he was already part of their circle.

Like he accepted him.

“A-am not.”

“When’s he taking you out again?”

“Saturday.”

“Thank god. You’ll be off the line. I have research to do.”

“Is th-that what we’re calling porn now?”

“Ha ha. Not all of us are you, Jeremy. Some of us respect the world wide web.” Michael shifted back and forth expectantly.

He must have wanted to be questioned. “Wh-what are you researching?”

“Generators, Jer! We’re already in a prime position here, in the basement and everything. But we’ll need more power.”

“Y-you already have a generator.”

“Too low powered. We need to get a couple going though, and then not only can we keep the essentials going, but we’ll be able to rock the N64 through the apocalypse!”

“Y-you’re worried about gaming?”

Jeremy should have been happy that Michael was showing some hope and aspirations beyond ‘we’re all going to die’. But he felt his head begin to ache with this new expense looming.

“If we don’t have diversions, we’ll blow our brains out, dude!”

“I g-guess that’s, um, that’s a good point.”

He’d just told him that they had no money coming in. And he was looking into expensive, unnecessary technology. 

God.

There was no way Jeremy could stop his dates.

There was no way.

They needed the kindness. The favors.

The money.

He thought of Rich. Handsome and loud and cocky and sweet. Thought of how warm his mark felt around him how full his chest would get, how even the wobble of Jeremy’s voice felt steadier and more sure when they spent hours on the phone together. How time flew away with every phone call.

And how it had never, ever been that way with any of the dates.

But he supposed that was the difference, between being a boyfriend, and being a…

...a whore.

Jeremy’s world tilted and centered around that single word.

Whore.

That was what he was, though, wasn’t it? Whore. Whore whore whore whore. The word chanting, a mantra, a newly discovered truth. Whore.

He was already so tainted.

Filthy.

Ruined--not because prostitution held some inherently evil or foul connotations.

But because of Jeremy himself. The lying, stupid, pathetic excuse for a boy. He felt his skin crawl, tiny bugs under his dermis, and he scraped his fingers through his hair anxiously again.

“Right? Man, with you soulmating, I’m going to beat all your high scores.”

“Y-yeah.” Everything felt so distant. Foggy.

Broken.

Disgusting.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted a bath or a good cry, if he wanted solitude or Rich.

He shouldn’t be seeing Rich as a coping mechanism. That was unfair.

Wrong.

Filthy.

Whore. Whore. Whore.

“Jer?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

Whore. Lying, pathetic whore.

“I-”

The phone rang.

Both boys stared at it, as though anyone called the house anymore besides potential dates for Jeremy. His number had gotten around--what had Jeremy been thinking? People didn’t pass out the phone numbers of their potential lovers to others. There wasn’t a cross reference system for this kind fo thing.

He wasn’t a potential boyfriend. He was a cocksleeve.

Jeremy sniffled weakly, grabbing the receiver and bracing himself for another angry canceled date. Someone he’d need to placate. Apologize. Reschedule.

Submit.

Whore.

“H-hello?”

“Good morning, beautiful!”

The knot in Jeremy’s throat loosened and he smiled despite himself. “Hey.”

“Oh god, you just talked to him two hours ago,” Michael grumbled. “What could he possibly want?”

“So! You a spring or autumn type of guy?”

Jeremy ignored Michael, and tried to fight the smile on his face. He failed. “A-autumn.”

“Is that why you’re falling for me?”

Jeremy giggled. “Is that why you called?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”’

“What if I’d said Spring?”

“Then I’d say something about springing a boner or something. Dunno. Didn’t consider you might be a Spring guy.”

“Th-that’s your problem. You, um, you never think.”

“Ouch! Right in the ego. You’re brutal, Queere. Brutal.”

Brutal.

A brutal whore.

HIs smile slipped. He needed to keep working. And that would constitute cheating on Rich.

He couldn’t do that to him.

But he couldn’t just dump him over the phone either.

“D-do you want to, um, grab a coffee?”

More money he couldnt’ spare.

All to tear out their hearts and ruin what was blooming, the one thing that felt right in this miserable pit he’d dug himself into.

“Coffee?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Too eager to wait until Saturday, I see.” Rich spoke with such confidence and joy.

Jeremy felt like a monster.

But better now, than to lead him on.

“Sure, we can pre-game our date. What time?”

“Um. Six, maybe?”

“Sounds good, babe.”

Babe.

So casually spoken.

And without a ‘y’ at the end, he lacked the visceral, negative reaction.

Instead, he bubbled and glowed and--

They were breaking up. He had to break Rich’s heart. In a few short hours, he’d hate him. There was no time to indulge in joy, in the pleasure of connection and chemistry. He needed to stop.

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“N-no, no, I liked...I liked it.”

And that was the problem.

“S-so six o’clock? The, um, Starbucks on 6th Ave?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”

“G-great.” He smiled like it didn’t hurt his face. Like he wasn’t tearing directly in two.


	13. Chapter 13

“I...it’s just, um. I, well, this isn’t really...I d-don’t think this is working.”

Rich stared at the whipped cream melting into his coffee. He’d wasted a significant amount of change on this, and suddenly he couldn’t loosen his throat up enough to drink it.

Until he really started to think about what Jeremy was saying. The way he was saying it. The way he looked, hunched and avoidant and trembling.

“That’s a fresh load of bullshit right there.” Rich stirred his finger around what little of the cream remained. He popped his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean with a little hum of approval.

Jeremy looked even prettier today than he had the first day. Maybe that was the crisp, cool air highlighting his features. Maybe it was the fact he’d worn a different, unripped cardigan. Maybe it was the nights spent talking on the phone helping him paint a fuller portrait of him.

And even when he was spouting utter nonsense, Rich found himself captivated.

“So what’s wrong?”

“H-huh?”

“Is it your friend? Telling you we shouldn’t be together?”

“N-no, no, Michael didn’t...I...I-I’m serious, I th-think we should stop this before s-someone gets hurt.”

Rich scoffed. “Yeah. Okay. You need some more sugar or something?”

Jeremy shook his head, a stilted little movement. “I-I...this is...i-it’s me, n-not you-”

“Are you freaking out because you’ve never had a boyfriend before or something?”

Jeremy’s expression grew pained, and he offered another shake of his head.

“Is it because I’m a tranny trainwreck?”

Jeremy gasped, and Rich saw his fingers twitch. As though he was going to slap him for saying it. Maybe Jeremy had a bit of a violent streak. Rich’s smile was lopsided and wide and he felt an odd sense of pride for burrowing under his skin like that.

“D-don’t...you’re not-”

“I mean, I am.”

“That’s...no. Nothing like...I l-like--”

“You like me a lot.” Rich shouldn’t have been so confident in it. Jeremy could have been leading him on. Humoring him. Maybe he pitied him because of the burns or the gender crisis or the general ‘being a bad excuse for a human being’ness.

He could have been.

But this still struck him as disingenuous.

“I…”

“You don’t want to break up. You’re just afraid that...I don’t know. But, like,” He bit the corner of his lip, going over the words as carefully as he could in his mind, finally releasing them, “like, we’re soulmates, right?”

“Supposedly.”

“Supposedly?” Rich snorted. “Don’t pull that.”

“...I-I mean, there’s, um, there’s a chance it’s not a perfect-”

Rich plopped his arm onto the table, his fingers grasping Jeremy’s, using his other hand to slide up his sleeve, and flipping his arm until both marks reflected towards each other. He was compelled to press further, to bridge what distance remained between them with the coffee shop table. But he didn’t. Instead, he just silently assessed the two marks, the identical framework and craftsmanship.

“Not perfect enough for you?”

Jeremy pulled his sleeve down, slouching lower in his chair and sighing softly. “...I’m not g-good enough for you.”

“Dude. Do you know how many times I’ve accidentally trapped myself in dumpsters this month while ‘looking for groceries’? Literally, the answer is more than once, and that’s all you need to know about whether or not anybody isn’t up to my rigorous standards.”

Jeremy smiled. “O-one time Michael, um, told me that they throw out food if it’s been out for too long at McDonald’s, and I...um, basically a cop threatened to throw me in, um, jail for ‘shoplifting’.”

“Yo, I’ve been there! Not the cop, but back alley fast food? Sign me up.”

“H-hooray poverty desperation.”

“Right?”

Jeremy shook his head, as though trying to compel himself away from any sort of relatability or common ground. “B-but I still-”

“MY POINT THOUGH, about the soulmate thing, is if this is going to work, I think we should, you know, be honest with each other.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“A-ha! So you are trying to make it work. You admit it. So you don’t want to break up.”

“C-can’t break up when we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“Good point, I’ll give you that, but here’s a better point: kiss my ass.”

“I-”

“I mean, uh,” Rich shook his head, holding up his hands, “Sorry. That was rude. But, like, you know. Talk to me, Queere. What’s with the cold feet?”

Jeremy wrapped his hands around his coffee cup, steam swirling around him as he sighed. “...I’m a, um, I’m not a personal assistant.”

Rich tried to understand.

He really did.

But-

“That’s it? That’s the big revelation here?”

Jeremy reached over, placing his hand against Rich’s face. His lips specifically, as though trying to keep his mouth closed. “Shh, I-I’m getting...you need to calm down.”

Rich laughed, and Jeremy blushed, cautiously drawing his hand away. “S-sorry.”

“I’ll stop interrupting. Serenade me with your truth sonnet, Jeremiah.”

“G-god, I haven’t been c-called Jeremiah in, um, god, in forever.” 

“I--okay, I’ll let you talk first, sorry.”

“Well.” Jeremy coughed, an attempt to clear his throat, perhaps. An attempt to loosen his anxiety.

And it elevated Rich’s.

Not because he thought there was anything Jeremy could say that would turn him off. But because it alarmed him that Jeremy was harboring so much distress and panic, and so early on in their relationship. This shouldn’t have been a source of stress. He should have been happy! Wasn’t he happy? Rich certainly was. Maybe it was selfishness, pure selfishness, pushing Jeremy to talk and open up, when he was trying to run away.

“...I-I’ve actually been on a lot of dates,” Jeremy said softly. “With, um, a lot of guys.”

Rich waited a beat, to be sure that Jeremy wasn’t about to speak more, before he responded. “Man, how do you even do that? Is it true, like, that guys put handkerchiefs in their back pockets to say if they like it up the ass or something?”

“...huh?”

“How do you even meet guys that are interested in guys?”

“L-lots of ways. Once you meet, um, one, it’s sorta opened up from there. But, uh, I’m not really running a ‘meeting gays’ seminar here.”

“Oh, right, right, sorry. Continue.”

“I, um...well, u-uh, they’d sorta...they’d buy me things.”

“Dude. Awesome.”

“...and g-give me money.”

“Still awesome.”

“N-no, like...I w-was kind of...am k-kind of…” Jeremy scraped his fingers through his hair, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes. Rich’s smile slipped, his body stiffening as he took in how distressed Jeremy looked. “...a w-whore.”

“Wha-”

“A prostitute.”

“Babe-”

“A-and I know, I know it’s d-disgusting, but I...w-we need to pay our bills, Rich. We n-need the money. And they buy me food sometimes, and I...s-some weeks, that’s the o-only meal I’ll have, and I just--I know I’m disgusting, I know that, but I just-”

“Jeremy.” Rich pulled himself out of his chair, walking around the table until he was standing directly before Jeremy. He looked at him, seated and vulnerable and shaking and stuttering explanations that he certainly didn’t owe to anyone, least of all Rich.

He could certainly understand desperation.

Doing something for a paycheck. 

Doing something because there was no other choice.

“You’re not disgusting.”

“Y-yes I am. B-because...because I’m...I w-want to be with you, but I...god, I have to buy a generator, and r-rent is coming up, and-”

“Generator?”

“Y-yeah. Michael thinks...i-it’s not important.”

“You can tell me later. Hey. It’s okay. We can...look, I’m not like, jazzed about you doing this, but not because…” He trailed off, reaching out and wiping away one of Jeremy’s tears which had fallen free. “Hey. It’s not because you’re my property or anything. But like, are you...the safety issue and, like, you know. That’s it really.”

“I won’t g-give you anything, I promise.”

“What, like AIDS or something? No, no, that’s not what I meant. Like...people are creepy, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Jeremy wouldn’t meet his eyes, and all Rich could see were thousands of hands, grasping and dragging and brutalizing Jeremy’s frail body, and it terrified him. He’d always thought if confronted by something like this, he’d just be jealous.

Instead, he just wanted to save him. Protect him. 

Tell him everything would be okay.

God, and they hadn’t even had their super awesome amazing funtimes date yet, either. This soulmate thing really did accelerate infatuation, didn’t it?

That or the massive phone bill.

“I c-can’t stop. Not until I figure out some other way to...to pay for everything.”

“Well, that’s okay. I mean, it’s not great, but it’s okay, you know?” Rich slid in, until he was sitting in Jeremy’s lap. He grabbed his coffee, taking a small sip of it. “This tastes like ass, you should have gotten something non-ass flavored.”

“Aren’t you...b-but it’s-”

“Ass.”

“Not that. I...you’re really not upset?”

“No.” Rich felt the eyes of other patrons on them, two boys sitting in each other’s laps. Male on male soulmates weren’t unheard of, obviously, but to be so brazen with it…

He grinned, nuzzling his face up against Jeremy’s just because he could. “Just tell me you aren’t dumping me.”

“I...I mean, if you’re not upset, then I guess...I mean….like, um. No. I’m not...no, I’m not dumping you.”

“Cool.” Rich jumped out of Jeremy’s lap, taking his seat across from him again. He leaned forward on his elbow, smiling brightly. “So!” He clapped his hands together, eager to sidestep the discomfort and fall back into their ease of conversation. “Who’s the better Olsen twin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will be more frequent from here on out.


	14. Chapter 14

“I-I don’t know why you’re so ob-obsessed with _Baby Geniuses_ ,” Jeremy giggled, as Rich swayed in step with him beside him. Their fingers were intertwined. And Jeremy thought if he wasn’t holding his hand, that certainly the joy would be enough to make him bouyant, to float away completely.

“Uh, special effects of the century, dude. Talking babies.”

“Y-you realize _The Matrix_ is coming out later this month, right?”

“Hm. Never heard of it.”

“N-Never heard of it?”

“Nope. Is it supposed to be a big deal or something?”

Jeremy kept their hands locked, but shoved his shoulder with his free hand. “Y-you’re such a dork.”

“Keanu Who? Never heard of him. Sounds pretty obscure.”

Jeremy scoffed. “I-it’s only going to be the biggest, um, biggest scifi movie of our lifetimes.”

“Yeah right.”

“S-sorry, we aren’t all...a-all blowing, um, Mr. Spock or whatever.”

“The Star Trek movies are actually pretty bad. But they’re my kind of bad, so you caught me, I’m a fan.”

Jeremy wondered if he was supposed to be a snob about this. Give Rich a hard time for finding enjoyment in something so kitschy and poorly executed.

Then he thought of how happy Rich had sounded on the phone the other night, talking about his ranking of best episodes, and really, if something brought someone so much joy, could he really trash it as “bad art”? What even was “bad” when it came to art? Wasn’t the whole point of art subjectivity? And furthermore-

“So we should totally go to the midnight showing of _Baby Geniuses_ is what I’m getting at.”

“There i-isn’t going to be a midnight screening.”

“Really? Wow. This town is really going downhill fast. Hell in a handbasket.”

Rich’s thumb brushed over Jeremy’s fingertips. 

“I guess we’ll have to go to your Keanu flick instead, then, huh?”

“W-we haven’t even...you’re not even sure if this date is going to g-go well, and you’re already-”

“Oh, this date is already a perfect, like, two thumbs up or whatever it is the critics say. You should know. You like movies.”

“Y-You should know. You were IN movies!”

“Was I? I forgot.”

Rich lead him along, and though they likely walked for several blocks, it hardly seemed long enough. Jeremy could have happily discussed everything--future plans, past ventures, movie coming attractions, casual flirtations--until the sun came up and would have been perfectly satisfied. 

Instead, they stood in front of a derelict building, boards haphazardly dangling over the door. They’d clearly recently been pried loose, and when Rich grabbed one of the boards, it easily fell away, proving Jeremy’s assumption.

“U-um.” Jeremy watched him, and didn’t offer a protest when, once the barricading was removed, Rich took his hand again.

“Okay, so, I probably should have just booked a nice reservation and--uh, yeah, actually, wanna go back to your place, and I can book a table, and we can try this again?”

Jeremy mutely shook his head, and Rich sighed shakily.

“Okay. You asked for it.”

What an ominous intro to a date.

Rich lead him inside, stepping over the uneven threshold. He squeezed Jeremy’s hand, and Jeremy’s feet clumsily followed after him. The inside was dim, but not impossible to see, cracks in the roof letting moonlight in. The building--what Jeremy was certain had once been an apartment of some sort--had been crudely swept up, though dust particles still glistened like starlight in the air. Candlesticks lined the floor, surrounding a blanket placed in the middle of the room.

“...y-you...is this a breaking and entering picnic?”

“Yeah, dude!” Rich beamed. “A little classic crime and dine. I uh, I have the food in the kitchen, if you want to sit down.”

Jeremy was torn, between wanting to cling to Rich, and wanting to let him take the lead. He decided to take a seat, a few cushions on the blanket letting him properly lounge. Rich reached into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and flinging it to him.

“Do me a favor, babe? Can you light some of the candles? I didn’t want to leave them going, in case, like, the building went up or something…” He trailed off, a hitch to his voice, a faraway uneasiness to his eyes, before he bounced towards the kitchen.

Jeremy frowned, the connotations of his concern leaving an ache to his chest. But he pushed it down, as he fumbled with the zippo. He began to light each candle, marveling at how much glow and warmth each new flame brought to the intimacy of the abandoned building. He glanced around, taking in the bare interior, his eyes finally going to the wall. A sheet had been draped over it, pinned firmly into place.

Weird.

“What’s, um, wh-what’s with the sheet?”

“That’s our screen.” Rich sauntered in, holding out a wine glass for Jeremy. He grinned at him, clinking their glasses together. “To...like, to good toasts, for one thing.”

“I th-think a simple ‘to us’ works, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good and gay, dude. To us.”

The bubbles tickled Jeremy’s nose, even as the taste soured on his tongue. He tried not to wrinkle his nose, to show any distaste, but-

“This is awful,” Rich had drained the entirety of his glass. “I tried to find something classy for us, and this is...man. Guess I’m not a champagne guy.” 

“It’s not th-that’s bad.”

“Don’t worry, I have Pepsi too, and like, steak-”

“Your idea of a p-picnic is pepsi and steak?”

“Yeah! Wait, like...is that bad?” Rich’s voice grew smaller, as he began playing with the hem of his buttoned shirt. 

“Bad? N-no, no, of course not! It sounds really g-good, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I guess sandwiches are more of a picnic food, huh?”

“S-steak is just breadless sandwich.”

Rich cackled. “You could say that about anything!”

“T-toast is just sandwichless sandwich.”

“Hell yeah!” 

“But uh, what’d you mean about th-the sheet being our screen?”

But Rich had already gone back to the kitchen. Jeremy ran his thumb around the rim of his wine glass, curling his legs underneath his body as he waited for him to come back.

Rich returned with two plates, silverware carefully balanced. He handed one plate to Jeremy, plopping down next to him with his own. “Shit, I forgot the drinks-”

Jeremy placed his hand on Rich’s thigh. “Just, um, just w-wait a minute. I want to, um...just want to look at you for a minute.”

That was too bold of a thing to say, wasn’t it? He hoped the darkness hid his blush.

It wasn’t dark enough for that though, he didn’t think. But oh, the candlelight did wonders for Rich. His green eyes sparkled, their color amplified by the yellow of the flickering fire. THe rest of his colors were muted, the scars on his face dulled out--not invisible, but softened. His jawline and his cheekbones were sharp, and Jeremy wanted to run his hands over them, to feel out every edge and shadow of his body.

“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “For, um...for e-everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I-I do. This is...thi-this is really nice.”

“I think I might have overcooked the food, actually, but I’ll take nice anyway!” He placed his hand on top of Jeremy’s. “But I really need to get our drinks, and get the movie started.”

“Movie?”

“Yeah, the projector’s just back there.”

“P-projector?”

Rich laughed. “Yeah. I know, I know, you were expecting some real romancing, and I’m just throwing out a dinner and a movie cliche, but-”

“Y...y-you set up a projector in an abandoned building for me?”

“I had to borrow it, and the film quality is probably going to be awful against this wall, but-”

“F-fuck, Rich, you’re...are y-you real? You can’t be real, can you?”

The smile on his face could have ignited every candle Jeremy had forgotten to light. He laughed, a trembling, meek little sound, as his hand moved to the back of his neck timidly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Except it was. It was a big deal.

Truth be told, looking back on the night, Jeremy wouldn’t remember the name of the obscure movie Rich had dug up. He would remember that he had vaguely enjoyed it, though they’d admittedly spent more time joking and mocking the minor errors than just taking it in for what it was. 

Was that a bad sign? To forget the movie on their very first date?

They’d sat together, separate at first, tending to their own plates, before Rich had begun to scoot closer, closer, finally stealing a forkful of meat off Jeremy’s plate and teasing it over his lips. And next thing Jeremy knew, that became the routine, feeding each other, stealing food from each other. The meal he hardly remembered either, he’d realize looking back, except how fun it was to just engage with each other during what was normally just a task for survival. 

By the end of the movie, Rich way laying in his lap, head against Jeremy’s thigh.

And Jeremy’s fingers were moving through his hair.

“H-how long have you been dyeing your hair?”

“Hm? I don’t know, since...man, since I started cutting it, I guess. It’s like, maybe if I make an outrageous statement, people won’t notice the things I don’t want them to notice.”

“Like how c-cute you are?”

Rich laughed. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

Jeremy looked at the screen, momentarily appreciating a flawlessly executed shot, before he looked back down at Rich. He curled the red dyed section of his hair around his fingers, strumming the soft strands, then letting it go. “I-I’ve never been brave enough.”

“To be cute? Liar. You already are.”

“N-no, to, um, to dye my hair. Michael and I were going to, um, in the 7th grade. He was going to frost my tips.”

“Frost your tits?”

“My tips, you p-pervert.”

“Silly me.”

“B-but when he started, um, the smell sorta...it was so chemical-y, you know?”

“Chemicals have a way of smelling like chemicals, it’s true.” Rich shifted around, cheek nuzzling against Jeremy’s leg. Jeremy sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly aware of his positioning, and just as suddenly worried that he’d pop an inopportune boner. “Wouldn’t it be something if you got a stiffy right now?”

“R-Rich!”

“What?”

“I-I’m not-”

“It’d be something, that’s all I’m saying. A good something. Man, I wish I got boners.”

Jeremy wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that. He kept petting Rich’s hair, because he’d yet to offer a protest, and because it was soft, and because he wanted to. “I-I don’t know, stealth arousal is, um, isn’t something to sneeze at.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Unless you leave a puddle or something I guess.”

Jeremy’s face splotched red. Rich lifted his head, Jeremy’s hand loosely pressed on top of his head. 

“Too gross?”

“N-no.”

“Good, because that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. The frosted tip, even. Man, I can’t even imagine you with frosted tips.”

“H-huh? Oh, right, the...the hair conversation. H-heh. I forgot.”

“Too busy worrying about boners. Here.” Rich sat up, stretching, then tugging gently on Jeremy’s upper arm. “You lay on me. I won’t poke your eye out.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but notice that there was a bulge though, in Rich’s pants. And though he felt insensitive for even thinking about it, he couldn’t help but wonder what made the illusion. 

But this was a first date. He couldn’t exactly ask.

And he shouldn’t have stared, either.

He curled up against the blanket, head finally resting in Rich’s lap.

And that was how they finished out the movie, the film reel finally clicking to blackness, until it was just the two of them, surrounded by candles, moonlight falling through the cracks of the decrepit building.

“Th...this was...this was a-amazing, Rich.”

“Yeah,” Rich scratched his fingernails lightly, up and down, Jeremy’s arm. Jeremy had removed his cardigan earlier, tying it around his waist, and the sensation of fingernails against his bare skin caused his skin to prickle pleasantly. “I’m a romance expert.”

“I g-guess you kind of are.” Jeremy smiled. “I don’t ev-ever want to go home.”

“Then don’t.” Rich paused, resting his hand against Jeremy, as he corrected, “I mean, don’t yet. Let’s just lay here for awhile.”

They ended up pushing the plates off to the side, piling up the cushions and pillows, and taking the sheet off the wall for a makeshift blanket, as they lay beside each other. They faced each other, Rich loosely wrapping his arms around Jeremy’s waist underneath the sheet.

“Just a few minutes,” He said. Which lead to a few more. Which lead to a half hour.

Which lead to lazy conversation that ended without any real resolution, as they fell asleep in the glow.

MIchael, Jeremy dimly thought, would kill him if he knew where he was spending the night. He smiled as he drifted off, forehead resting against Rich’s. If he killed him, so be it. After all, if the world was ending anyway, who cared about property laws and building code violations and the etiquette of whether or not to sleep with your soulmate on the first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you’re wondering and the answer is yes: Baby Geniuses DID come out the same month as The Matrix. I’ll leave it to you to decide which is the superior film.


	15. Chapter 15

“Spring cleaning,” Rich chirped to the gaggle of cats standing at his open door frame. A frew ran in, batting at dust bunnies. Rich laughed warmly, grabbing an armful of dirty clothes and throwing them into a hamper.

He’d already thrown out three trash bags of garbage. And though he knew he should have felt a sense of shame, a humiliation in letting things go so far, instead he felt accomplished. A sick sense of fascination at the depths of his own depressed filth.

The trailer felt bigger now that it was cleaner, but also emptier. Rich’s new VCR blinked 12:00 at him from the display. He bit his lip. Maybe Jeremy would judge him for not programming the damned thing.

Just because Rich was a former star didn’t mean he was a VCR technician. Jeremy needed to learn that hard truth eventually.

Rich found himself in the kitchen, washing dishes and considering his luck. Five dates. Not counting the occasional coffee outing, and the daily phone calls, they’d been on five dates. Three initiated by Rich, two by Jeremy.

They hadn’t seen Baby Geniuses.

But they had seen The Matrix.

Twice.

“It’s not perfect,” Jeremy had said contemplatively. “But it’s...it’s interesting.”

“Bullet time was pretty cool, dude.”

“Y-yeah. But it’s dangerous, um, to equate special effects with--o-okay, dangerous isn’t the, um, word. That’s a little excessive but--um, to equate special effects with, um, with artistry--um, okay, wait, I-I mean, like, um. Special effects are an art too, and art is subjective a-anyway, but-”

“Yeah, I get you. The whole flash versus substance thing.”

“Yeah. I, um, I really liked it though. You want to maybe see it again?”

“Sure! When-”

“There’s a sh-showing in thirty minutes!”

“Oh!”

Rich hadn’t protested as Jeremy grabbed his hand--because any excuse for hand holding was a good time for Rich--and dragged him back into the auditorium.

Truth be told, he was pretty sure Jeremy just had a crush on Keanu.

And Rich was so beyond okay with that. There was no shame in losiing out to such a hot Unmarked.

Besides. Rich hadn’t lost.

Jeremy was still with him.

And he was coming over, this fine April afternoon, to eat takeout and look at photo albums.

Rich finished up the dishes, checking on the takeout he’d gone out to pick up in the midst of his cleaning. It was taking everything in him not to take an eggroll prematurely.

“U-um…”

Rich’s ears perked, as a scattering of cats meowed and purred.

“Is this, um, the right-”

“Nope!” Rich bounded out of the kitchen. Seeing Jeremy in the door frame made him light up. Jeremy. Here at his crappy little house. He’d be sitting in his furniture. Eating food. Breathing air.

Beautiful.

Jeremy clutched a shoebox to his chest, a few stacks of photo albums balanced on top of it. His cardigan today was a rosy shade of red, which made his lips pop.

Rich ached with how badly he wanted to taste him. 

He stepped closer, taking the box and the albums from Jeremy’s hands. He kissed his cheek, lingering a moment longer than necessary against his soft skin, as Jeremy giggled.

“Are these baby pictures?”

“U-uh huh,” Jeremy casually leaned down, brushing his fingers over the tail of one of the cats. Rich took the albums to his rarely used sofa, setting everything down. “A-and bar mitzvah photos, and b-braceface chronicles, and all the, um, all the formative humiliations.”

“Cute!” He glanced at the supplies, frowning as he picked up a blank, black binder. “And this-?”

“In, um, in case you wanted to make a Jeremy Almanac. Um. I mean, I still have all the film, so you can t-take whatever you want for yourself, and, um, yeah.” Jeremy paused, and glowed brighter than his cardigan. “That, um, that’s narcissistic of me to assume though, isn’t it?”

“Yo! Not even close! What a bomb idea. I have some glue sticks somewhere, we should make some collages or something too. Really make it rad and shit.”

Rich was grateful he’d taken the time to vacuum, because rather than sitting on the couch, they ended up finding themselves sprawled on the floor, food and photos spread around them. They played around with the chopsticks, stealing food and sword fighting and swapping fortunes. It was worth the swelling credit card debt, if it meant a full stomach and more time with Jeremy.

“Michael was so small back then,” Jeremy laughed, while they looked through pictures.

“Him? Look at you, tiny!”

“Still, um, still taller than you are today.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever! Cute matching hats.”

“God, w-we were such dorks!”

“Were?”

They laughed, as Rich snatched the picture for his binder. He needed proof of Jeremy’s dorkiness. As if his general existence wasn’t proof enough. Rich bubbled with pride.

Jeremy smiled at Rich as though he were beautiful. As though he were the most important, captivating person in the room. He smiled at him, and Rich forgot about aggressive directors and condescending costars and the constricting terror of a burning room falling in-

No. REminding himself of all the things he forgot around Jeremy was a dangerous game.

But the point was, here, on his shabby carpet, eating second rate chinese food, and looking at amateur snapshots from his soulmate’s childhood, Rich was so swept up in Jeremy’s smile and how clean he smelled and how soft his hair looked that his skin tingled and his lips ached and he couldn’t remember what it was like to be one half of a pair anymore.

Or rather, he did remember. But he didn’t think he could slot himself back into that world.

Jeremy pointed out each picture timidly, a waver to his voice, and a nervous glance to gauge Rich’s responses, as though awaiting mockery or boredom. Rich could play hypeman--but it didn’t take any need for acting. He was hyped. As Jeremy talked about his bar mitzvah, Rich leaned in, eyes wide, captivated by every mishap and pratfall.

“...o-oh, and also, I was a man, which, uh, that was a cool milestone I guess.”

“Yeah, no big deal, just emotional maturity and the crushing press of obligations.”

“A-and a lot of money. My hand cramped from all the thank you notes.”

“Man, all I got for becoming a man was, like, the crushing disappointment of “you killed my only daughter” from my dad.”

Jeremy frowned, and Rich realized his joke had fallen flat. “Rich-”

“Just kidding! I never told my dad. I haven’t seen that drunk fuck since...let’s not worry about that.”

“My dad’s a drunk too!” Jeremy blurted it, sudden and sharp and obviously false. They both stared at each other, Rich’s eyebrow raising in confusion, before Jeremy pressed his hands against his face. “W-why did I...n-no, my dad’s...my dad’s fine, really a good dad actually, I don’t know...y-you just seemed sad, I didn’t want you to feel weird, and me saying that is making it really weird…”

“So your plan was to pretend to come from a broken home too?”

“Y-yeah, I guess.” Jeremy dropped his hands from his face, folding them uncomfortably in his lap. He stared at one of the empty containers which had housed their rice. “Are you...I mean, I-I’m sorry if I made you mad.”

Rich’s lips quivered, as a laugh escaped him. “You’re pretty fucked up, Queere. What the hell?” He glanced at the picture, pointing at a bearded man with a doughy build--the sort of ‘maybe he was once in shape, but probably he was a beanpole who lost his metabolism’ body that Rich had seen often enough in the live studio audience, accompanying their children and nagging wives--and side eyeing Jeremy. “This your dad?”

“Yeah. He a-actually wore pants that day. Hooray.”

Rich snorted. “What the hell? Maybe you DO come from a fucked up home.”

“No, just...seasonal depression. And regular depression. A double dose of depr...depression. And, um, yeah, I don’t know, rebellion against Big Pants.”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s my dad.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean you owe him anything.”

“I l...love my dad, Rich. Um. I should probably...p-probably call him. Tell him about...f-fuck, us, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’ve never, um, introduced anyone to my...ugh, it’s too a-awkward, let’s change the subject.”

“You’ve never introduced anyone to your dad? Ever? Like, your dad has never met another human being in his life? That’s weird.”

Jeremy smiled, placing his fingertips against Rich’s shoulder and lightly shoving. “I m-meant like a, um, a boyfriend.”

“He gonna flip?”

“Hm?”

“Cuz I’m a guy? Allegedly, I mean.”

“Fully a guy? Yes. I mean no! N-no, he’s not going to...he’s going to, um, he’ll be okay with that. I, uh, we’ve talked about it before, and um...I mean, my dad is okay with that.” Jeremy sighed. “Y-you’re going to ask about if my mom would be okay with it next, aren’t you?”

Rich stared at the pictures, the lineup of Jeremy and Michael, Jeremy and his dad, Jeremy by himself. And he shook his head, slotting together the pieces. “Nope.”

“W...what do you mean nope?”

“You don’t have any pictures of her. Obviously you don’t want to talk about her.”

Jeremy was quiet a moment. 

...maybe he did want to talk about her after all. Rich looked up, taking in his uncomfortable expression. “Is she…” He trailed off. How did he tactfully put it? He didn’t want to hurt Jeremy any further.

He gestured, finger running over his throat in the classic ‘cutthroat’ gesture, tongue sticking out of his mouth in a pantomime of a corpse.

Jeremy’s eyes widened for a moment.

...bad move. Really bad move. Really really bad-

Jeremy’s laughter was sudden and infectious. He cackled, shaking his head as his eyes squeezed shut with the intensity of his own giggles. “N-no,” He finally wheezed out. “No, she’s not...sh-she’s...I think she’s in, um, Tampa or something. I wish, oh my god, no, no, she’s not dead.”

“Oh!”

Jeremy’s laughter sputtered out, as he wiped a laughter-induced tear from his eye. “No,” He was still smiling, “she just w, um, walked out on us.”

“Oh. Oh. Jesus, Jeremy, that’s...man. That’s fucking awful!”

“It’s okay. It was...I w-was like eleven or something, I don’t even remember, it was forever ago.”

Rich thought of him. Small and vulnerable, maybe wearing his matching-with-his-only-friend hat, standing by as his mom carried suitcases out of the house. He thought of that precious little face, the smile slowly falling from his mouth as he realized she wasn’t just going on some brief business trip. How scared and vulnerable and broken he must have felt.

How alone, to lose a parent.

Rich moved closer to him, grabbing his hand. Jeremy stiffened, startled, but his fingers quickly locked in with Rich’s. 

“Sounds like a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said softly. “I-I mean, I kinda...I was a hard kid to, um, be around, to be fair-”

“Oh, bullshit. You’re a delight.” Rich leaned in, resting his forehead against Jeremy’s. “I wish we could have grown up together.”

“I d-don’t think I would have, um, I don’t think anyone w-would want me on a set.”

“Hell, nobody wanted me, but I managed.” He brushed his fingers through Jeremy’s hair, letting his hands eventually rest against his face, still pressed forehead to forehead. Every detail of Jeremy’s face was blurred and wavering. “I’d have looked out for you.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Duh, stupid. You’re my soulmate.” Rich pulled back, hand still cupping Jeremy’s cheek. Jeremy tilted his head, nuzzling against his palm. “Besides, for once, you deserve someone taking care of you, don’t you think?”

Jeremy’s eyes sparkled with every stunned blink. His face glowed red, and he looked down. “We, um, w-we should finish the scrapbook…”

“Oh, I get it, this is the part where you act all shy and...yeah, okay, I do wanna see more pictures of you, so you win this round, meek boy.”

They poured over the albums. And Rich drank in every story, each detail, all the fragments of memories that Jeremy was happy to share. They steered the topic into happier territory, avoiding parents and insecurities and abandonments. He didn’t need to drudge anything more up for Jeremy, not today. 

“Y-you’re putting them in crooked,” Jeremy said, as Rich glitter-glued another portrait into his book.

“It’s the look I’m going for!”

“D-dumb look.” Jeremy leaned over, taking the picture and prying it, wet glue and all, from the page. “You, um, you just need to center it like this, and…” His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focused, fixing the picture and placing it in position. “There. That’s how-”

“Fuck, can I kiss you already?”

Jeremy froze, as Rich reached out. Once again, his fingers--now tacky with glue and glitter--brushed over Jeremy’s face. Jeremy blinked owlishly at him, before his voice came out in a tiny quiver.

“You want to kiss me?”

“Yeah, only since forever.”

Jeremy looked down, but scooted nearer, until their knees touch. “Y-yeah,” He breathed. “Yeah, okay, you can...um. You can...if you want, um, if you want to, like, um, you can ki...kiss me.”

Rich placed his thumb against Jeremy’s chin. He tilted his head up, sitting up on his own knees to get a better angle, and leaned in until he could feel his breath against his face. Jeremy’s eyes fell half-lidded, a small shuddery sigh escaping lips which had parted in surprise and anticipation.

Rich brushed his thumb over his bottom lip, testing, and marveled at how soft he was. Soft and unmarred and trembling and perfect. Jeremy’s eyes opened fully, looking into Rich’s, as Rich moved his thumb, once more gripping his chin as he directed him forward.

When their lips met, his arm pulsed, his soulmate mark positively throbbing with the union of their bond. It was an odd sensation, distracting for a moment, before the full weight and heat of Jeremy’s mouth hit him. Rich tilted his head, dropping his hands to Jeremy’s cardigan. He grasped it, tugging him up against himself. Jeremy gasped against him, his own hands fluttering like baby birds freshly fallen from the nest, finally settling against Rich’s shoulders. 

Jeremy’s mouth was sweet and sour warmth, and not just because of the Chinese food they’d just eaten. His taste was addicting, and Rich brushed his tongue over his lips, lips which parted all the further in permission for more more more.

Jeremy’s body tumbled backwards, Rich pressing down on top of him as their kiss grew more feral, starved, bodies tangling together as Rich ran his tongue against Jeremy’s, as his teeth would dip over his mouth. Jeremy’s hands slid around, grasping at Rich’s back, as Rich tangled his hands into Jeremy’s hair.

His arm continued its desperate crawling ache, as though compelling him to tear himself to pieces, just to glue them together with Jeremy’s parts. Rich broke the kiss, sharply sucking in a breath and looking at Jeremy. His hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles, and his skin was pink and splotchy, and his lips were swollen, wet, open with every desperate gasp for breath.

“Fuck,” Rich panted.

“Y-yeah, I kn--” Jeremy’s words grew muffled as Rich fell against him for another kiss. Their legs slotted together, and Rich ground his sock-stuffed crotch against Jeremy’s.

...maybe that was too far.

Jeremy’s fingernails grasped at his shoulderblades, and Rich halted his desperate rutting, breaking the kiss again and beginning to pull away.

“Sorry, too much…?”

“N-no, don’t go,” Jeremy grabbed him. “Just, um...just a little bit more?”

Rich grinned, wicked and dark and desperate, as he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “What about our almanac?”

“Th-they’re pictures. They’re not going, um, anywhere. Please?”

“Well,” Rich purred, as he began to draw his lips down Jeremy’s neck. “Only because you asked so nice-”

And just as suddenly, sharp claws were digging into the back of Rich’s calf.

He’d forgotten about the cats.

Rich’s eyes widened in pain and horror and confusion, as he jerked his head back before he could react, staring at one of the neighborhood tabbies as she jabbed her claws into his skin through his clothes. “Jesus Christ,” He breathed, and placed his hands against the carpet to grasp against it lest he get the urge to kick his legs and hurt the animal in the process. “Jesus Christ. Jesus…”

“O-oh!” Jeremy squirmed out from beneath him, as Rich gritted his teeth. “I, uh, I...h-here, kitty, c-come on…” Jeremy manually pried the cat’s paws away from Rich’s leg, picking her up, only for her to whine a protest and struggle from his grip, running towards the door they’d left open this entire time.

“My hero,” Rich said, resting his head against the carpet and groaning in annoyance. He glanced up again only when he felt Jeremy roll his pants leg up, up past his knee. “What are you-”

“Y-you’ll, um, you don’t want to get an infection,” Jeremy said softly. “I can, um, I’ll clean it up for you, and then we can maybe finish your crooked collage?”

Rich glanced at him over his shoulder, his leg in Jeremy’s lap. Jeremy had glitter on his face, set in from the glue which had been on Rich’s hands when he’d cupped his face. He smiled, fond and warm and happy, despite the stinging cat scratches in his leg.

“Yeah,” He said. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They had all the time in the world to makeout, after all.


	16. Chapter 16

Somewhere between _Pink Flamingos_ and _To Wong Foo_ Jeremy found himself contemplating love.

And maybe it was too early to cling to that emotion. Or was it too late? Things worked differently, with a soulmate, didn’t they? Besides the physiological--the eerie linking up through sickness and in health, the phantom empathy pains, the ache of separation, the whole ‘99% chance of dying within 24 hours of each other’ thing--emotionally things worked different with someone you were predestined to end up with, right?

So it wasn’t so strange that he was already falling in love.

Or maybe it was a bad sign that he was even considering it and not just flinging himself wholeheartedly into the abyss of true love affection.

Rich curled up next to him on the twin sized bed, his hand draped into the bowl of popcorn between them. His eyes were fixed on the screen, a delighted glow to his expression. Jeremy smiled and kissed his temple.

“You like, um, you like the movie?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know there was so much, like, gay shit out there.”

“You l-lived in Hollywood.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ever watch that many movies. And I thought gay guys were just, like, Sesame Street extras or something. Flamboyant set pieces. Man. There’s a whole world out there.”

Jeremy combed his fingers through Rich’s hair and watched the way his eyes closed, like a self-satisfied cat, as he arched into his touch. The bed forced more proximity than a fuller size would do, and he’d considered pushing MIchael’s bed over to give them more space.

He was glad that he hadn’t. It was nice, laying here next to Rich. He could practically feel his pulse. 

“I don’t know, like, it’s just kind of cool. People are going to grow up feeling more normal or something. I mean, you know. I wish I’d known about this stuff sooner.”

“I don’t think, um, I-I don’t think the John Waters movies would have, uh, been appropriate in your youth.”

Rich laughed softly. “Well, nothing was really appropriate in my youth, so I don’t think it would have hurt any worse.”

Jeremy’s veins felt icy and brittle, as he continued his tender stroking of Rich’s hair. “What, um, w-what was it like?”

“What?”

“Your, um...g-growing up. Famous.”

Rich shrugged. “I don’t know. It was weird, it didn’t feel like me, so in a lot of ways I don’t really...it’s dumb, Queere, you don’t need to hear about any of this. Another celebrity bitching and moaning. No one wants that.”

“I don’t think you’re bitching.” Jeremy dropped his hand into the bowl with Rich’s, placing his fingers on top of his hand. Rich’s hand rotated, until he was holding it. “I, um, I mean, you’re not exactly...you’re not exactly rolling in lu...luxury right now.”

Rich snorted. “You’re telling me. Yeah, my dad and my brother, they took everything. I was their little breadwinner. Really put a wrench in things when I had to go and blow myself up.”

The fire. Jeremy teetered on the edge, curiosity and concern and prying instincts. But how did you ask abiout something like that? The details in the papers were murky, the tabloids spreading rumors and fallacies, and Rich himself had been so tightlipped, no post-mortem interviews or press releases.

Maybe Jeremy was the first person he’d ever even brought it up with since it had happened.

Jeremy felt dizzy, the weight of it making his heart pound up into his ears. He stroked his thumb over Rich’s fingertips. “It, um, it must have been really scary,” He finally said softly.

“What, my dad taking my money? Or the fire?”

“I...um. The fire.”

Rich shrugged. “It is what it is.” HIs expression softened as he leaned over, brushing his lips to Jeremy’s. “I lived. A little crispier than before. But I lived.”

“I’m really glad.” Jeremy squeezed his hand, smiling slightly. “Because, uh, Michael always has to, um, give some Queer History Lesson whenever I try to, um, sh-show him these movies, and it’s nice to watch them with someone else, y’know?”

Rich laughed. “I can get critical too! That lighting off that drag queen’s rack was fucking, uh, pedestrian! Yeah!”

Jeremy giggled, nuzzling up against Rich’s shoulder. “It’s symbolic o-of...um…” He tried to rack (no pun intended) his brain for a proper joke, something to sound stuffy and affected, or at least funny, but, “a symbol for, um, boobs.”

“Nice.”

They settled into each other, only moving again when Jeremy needed to change tapes to the next cult classic. Rich reacted so well to every flic, not like a critic or analyst, but as a willingly absorbed viewer. A perfect studio audience. Jeremy found himself watching him more than the screen, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye as Rich would laugh at a well executed bit of dialogue, or marvel at a well framed set, or otherwise offer him glowing admiration for the craft of filmmaking.

Jeremy hugged his arms around one of Rich’s, nuzzling his cheek up against his shoulder, and Rich kissed the top of his head. 

It was just so easy with him. An easy, perfect fit. Jeremy felt filthy for knowing it wasn’t enough--not that it wasn’t enough physically, or mentally, or emotionally.

But financially.

He cringed at the depths of his own depravity. Because after their movie date, when all he wanted was for Rich to stay overnight, and for them to spend the rest of the evening talking and flirting and kissing (and maybe more, god, soon they’d be doing more and it made Jeremy’s insides squirm in the best way possible), he had to walk him to the door.

“So tomorrow, you wanna come over for, like, brunch? We can wear stupid hats and pretend like we’re elitest or something.”

Jeremy snorted. “Y-you want to play dress up and eat fancy feast?”

“Not fancy feast! That’s cat food, bro. But yeah, dude.”

“I…” He had an afternoon date. They needed shampoo and milk and Michael needed new shoes and- “Can’t do tomorrow.” Jeremy frowned, and looked away to avoid the acknowledgement of why in Rich’s eyes.

Rich’s tone remained cheerful all the same. “Yeah, that’s okay. Maybe the day after tomorrow then?”

“Y-yeah, probably. I, um, I think that’d be a good idea.”

“Yeah? Cool.” Rich leaned up, catching Jeremy’s lips with his own. “I’ll try, ugh, job hunting or something tomorrow then.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Real snoozefest. But the park owner is really starting to get on my ass about lot rental.” Rich scowled. “He told me when I moved in ‘oh, I’d do anything for star of favorite show,’” He spoke in a thick, unidentifiable accent with the the impression, and Jeremy snorted.

“Is he, uh, Russian or something?”

“I don’t fucking know. I think he just has a speech impediment. Oh, I know, real rich of Rich to make fun of a vocal problem. Well, this guy sucks. I’m a star. I deserve free rent.” He paused, holding up his hands. “I’m kidding. But I really do need to get a job before I end up evicted.”

Jeremy’s tongue burned with the urge to tell him to move in, the sudden impulse digging into his teeth. The idea of coming home to Rich every day, sharing a bed, sharing a home…

Fuck.

He was definitely, capital L in-

“I’m sure you’ll, um, you’ll find something.”

“I mean, this is supposed to be Clinton’s America, right? Jobs everywhere? Where’s my fucking job. I’ll tell you where it is. The back of Lewinsky’s throat, that’s where.”

“Very timely,” Michael said from the table. He looked at Rich with narrowed eyes, his glasses off, so perhaps he was only squinting because he couldn’t see very well.

But Jeremy knew that wasn’t quite the truth.

“Right?” Rich chirped. “Nothing like a cum shot to ruin my employment opportunities. Or maybe it was the cigar-”

“You’re g-going to do so good.” Jeremy cupped Rich’s head, and maybe it was a sense of annoyance with Michael’s judgemental looks, but he kissed him longer than he might have otherwise. Rich’s hand rested against his hip, as he bit his lip. Jeremy’s lips parted, and he shivered as he backed Rich up against the doorframe.

“Oh, puke. Get a room.” 

Jeremy separated his lips from Rich’s, looking back at Michael with a cheery little grin. “I mean, we could g-go back to the room I guess. Mind if we, um, use your bed?”

“Disgusting.”

Rich laughed, nuzzling against Jeremy’s shoulder, pressing his lips lightly against his neck. He mumbled against him. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Michael’s just a...h-he’s a tight-ass.”

“Nice.”

“Not everything is n-nice, Rich. I mean like in a-”

“This ‘tight ass’ can hear you, Jer!”

Jeremy laughed, grabbing Rich’s hand. “Here, I’ll w-walk you to your bus stop.”

And it was nice. A warm day, a warm hand, a warm bond. Jeremy swayed with every step, as Rich babbled his thoughts and affections and adorations.

He watched the bus take him away, and nearly floated the entire walk back home. The joy wouldn’t fully shatter until later that night, when his date was grinding against him in a dimly lit bar, Jeremy too drunk and unsteady to fully keep up. But at least his pockets were full of enough money to carry them through another week.


	17. Chapter 17

“What would you say are your greatest strengths?”

And though Rich bullshitted a list of attributes--hard working, self-motivated, fast learner--all he could think about was what the actual truth might be.

And the truth was, he wasn't sure if he had anything particularly worthy of bringing to the table.

But what he did know was that Jeremy brought him strength. 

And if getting a job like this could help, even a little bit, lessen the tension and worry and workload from Jeremy's shoulders, so be it.

Truth be told, Rich didn't like thinking about that. The workload. Exactly what that entailed. Jeremy hadn't been descriptive, but knowing that he met up with strange men, let them wine and dine and bed him, made him feel...

God.

He didn't know what he felt. Because he was afraid to analyze it too closely. He was afraid to find something monstrous and mean and cruel within himself, something judgmental and harsh. He didn't want there to be any side of himself that found Jeremy dirty or indecent, because Jeremy wasn't dirty or indecent. He was doing what he had to do to survive.

There was so little hope in this town. So little for people to invest their futures in. How could anyone shame someone for using what attributes they had to get ahead? To survive?

But Jeremy seemed so sad, whenever they had to cut their dates short. He seemed so ashamed when Rich would kiss him goodbye. He seemed to think that Rich thought of him as Lesser Than, and it made Rich feel like a scoundrel. He sat in his trailer, going over every Help Wanted ad on the nights where he knew that Jeremy was out entertaining others, and he thought of how those pretty blue eyes were fixed miserably on another, how he was laughing at someone else's joke and softly touching their hands and speaking those sweet words that would guarantee a quick end to the evening, bent over and-

He didn't want to think about that part.

Partly because they hadn't reached that part themselves. And he didn't want to mix reality with his fantasies.

Or maybe he was afraid of turning Jeremy into some sort of object within his mind.

Whatever the case, though, this was his routine. Calling managers, filling out applications, hitting the streets.

And, now, the new portion of his routine: the interviews themselves.

He'd gone to every thriftshop he could find, to try to figure out the best sort of suit to wear. A button up shirt that didn't cling too tightly to his chest. Pants that didn't make his hips look flared and obscene. A tie that just-

He thought of Moses. Moses, fitting him with a tie. Teaching him all the intricate knots and techniques. The different styles. And Rich hadn't even known that ties came in different styles. Go figure.

So rather than think about that, he'd grabbed the first black tie he could find, hideous and frayed and within his budget. He'd scuffed his way through some men's shoes in his minuscule size. And he bleached out the dye in his hair, in case it made him look too much like a young punk. 

He looked like a twelve year old. Blonde haired and wide eyed and dressed in play clothes.

But he looked like a very male twelve year old, at least.

And a professional one.

And he overcompensated by pushing as much bass into his voice as he could with every interview. And answered about his strengths. His weaknesses. His aspirations and goals and experience.

He sold himself over and over again, for a minimum wage paycheck that dangled before him, so close but so frustratingly far away.

"Y-you'll get a call back soon," Jeremy said as Rich found himself at his basement apartment. They sat in the same beanbag chair, Jeremy's thumbs fluttering over the buttons on his controller. Rich glanced at the screen, watched as his game sprite fluttered about manically.

"Maybe." He curled up in Jeremy's lap, and laughed as Jeremy rested his elbows against his head. 

"Y-you will. You're so smart, and you work so hard, and you're...y-you're just a really qualified candidate." He paused the game, stroking his fingers through his hair. "A-and you dyed your hair."

"Yeah, I look like a fucking tool."

"You're cute."

"A cute tool."

"M-my tool. My, uh, screwdriver." He blushed. "Because, uh, because it's a type of tool."

A screwdriver sounded sublime right about now. Rich's mouth watered at the possibility. Especially if they just skipped the orange juice outright.

He considered his current funds situation. Because he certainly wasn't going to ask anything of Jeremy, who was already stretched so thin, who already struggled so hard for what little bit of escapism he could afford.

"We should go out," He said once he did the math.

"O-out?"

"Drink."

"It's, uh, it's only 1."

"So?"

"I, uh, o-okay, um, just let me get to the save point, and then...y-yeah, we can go out."

Jeremy probably didn't want to go to a bar, Rich realized with a start. Jeremy probably had to deal with enough bars for his job.

His job.

HIs fucking job.

God, why couldn't Rich just get a good enough job to support both of them--all of them, he realized. Michael too. Michael was part of the package deal, much as he seemed to positively loathe Rich. Why couldn't Rich say the right pattern of words to earn that coveted call back and find himself in the lines of employment and wages and stability?

He needed a drink. He needed to numb this insecure, unsteady, worthless part of himself. And he wanted Jeremy with him. Jeremy. His greatest strength. His only strength. And he couldn't even protect him from the grimy hands of men who threw him pennies and demanded five star service.

And so they found themselves at a bar, at one in the afternoon, Rich still in his interview clothes, though the tie had been loosened and left on Jeremy's floor, and Jeremy in a baggy t-shirt and the sort of fitted jeans that kept drawing Rich's eye, to the lines of his legs, his hips, his thighs, his ass, perky and begging to be grabbed and-

Rich ordered a pair of drinks, and walked Jeremy over to the jukebox, slotting in a quarter and picking whatever early decade grunge song that seemed to suit their mood.

Jeremy smiled, nursing the straw, and looking at Rich expectantly. 

"Wanna dance?"

"Maybe."

The bar was empty, save for the bartender and one other patron, slumped nearly-comatose over his gin and tonic. Rich considered whether it might be dangerous, for two boys to publicly dance in a rickety dive bar in the middle of the day.

And then he drowned himself in alcohol and told himself to fuck off with his concerns. Jeremy said maybe. Which meant yes. He wanted to dance. And Jeremy asked so little, of anyone, so who was he to turn him down?

Maybe Rich was sad about his job hunting woes, but Jeremy was sad about the entirety of his life, surely. And Rich didn't have a right to question any of it--didn't want to question any of it--when all he wanted to do instead was to hold his boyfriend and give him the world.

He couldn't even give him a decent drink, as they continued to slam well vodka and generic labels. But the buzz was as sweet as if they were drinking Grey Goose or fine champagne--even if their attempt at champagne hadn't been met with universal praise, Rich remembered with a fond smile.

He took Jeremy's hand, and twirled him around the dance floor, and kept the tab going long enough for the disgusted grimace of the barkeep to eventually fade into general disinterested apathy. They danced until the bar began to fill up with other patrons, soulmates for an afternoon thrill of drinks and music, or Unmarkeds looking for hookups who wouldn't cherish them the way they deserved. Construction workers and office managers and the various strains and classifications of humanity. it was beautiful, almost, to be part of a collective. Rich grasped Jeremy by the hips, swaying with him, pressed close against his body.

"Fucking faggots."

And there it was.

There it fucking was.

Jeremy stiffened, and Rich's fingers twitched against him, as one of the patrons moved towards them.

Rich looked him up and down. All 6'3" and denim, scraggly beard and kidney bean shaped eyes. His mark was a murky brown, and looked more like a smudge than an intricate pattern. Pathetic. Obviously with a mark like that, how could he ever know true love?

"The fuck did you just say?"

"I called you a fucking faggot." He jabbed his finger against Rich's chest, sharply pressing through the shirt and the compression material underneath it. "Faggot."

Obviously he wasn't a wordsmith. He smelled of whiskey, and Rich was almost angry that precious alcohol had been wasted on him. His hands slid away from Jeremy's hips.

"Rich-"

"I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to, pal," Rich lifted his own hand, roughly poking the man's chest. It was an awkward angle, given their height difference. "But why don't you go mosey back over to the bar and mind your own business." He drawled the last sentence mockingly.

The beast of a man glared at him, then looked at Jeremy. Rich snapped his fingers aggressively.

"Don't look at him. Look at me, you ugly piece of shit." Rich's breathing was steady, his hands loosely held at his sides, casual and calm.

As he side-eyed the bar, the patrons looking over at them, the musk of cigarette smoke wafting over the atmosphere. A few empty beer bottles within reach. Useful. Very useful.

He saw his arms move, but could do nothing to prevent him from shoving him, Rich's body hitting the jukebox with a hearty shake.

"We don't want your kind around here."

Jeremy took a stumbling step backwards, rushing towards RIch's side. Rich smiled at him, as Jeremy took his hand. 

"L-let's just go, okay? Let's just g-go."

"I got this."

"Please, Rich, I want to l-leave."

"Better listen to your bitch," The man taunted. "Before I show you what we do to fags like you in this town."

Bitch.

He called Jeremy a bitch.

Rich's ears were muffled, as Jeremy took his arm, started to pull him away. Rich was dimly aware of his feet moving, as the man laughed and turned back towards the bar.

Rich jerked his arm out of Jeremy's grip, approaching one of the tables. He grabbed a beer bottle, snarling as he flung it at the back of the man's head.

...all in all, it was a quick confrontation.

And Rich would hardly remember it. He remembered the sound of the glass shattering, a clarifying twinkling of music in the midst of loud rock and frantic murmuring.

And he remembered Jeremy screaming his name, a horrified, shocked sound.

And he remembered being lifted up by his collar.

And the first fist to his face.

And the second.

Tables were knocked over, glasses glittering their shattered contents on the ground, and Rich would end up with one eye swollen shut, and a split lip, and an agonized ache to his ribs from being kicked while down. He would comfort himself with the knowledge that he blackened the other's eye before they were pried apart, before Rich and Jeremy were shuffled out of the door without even having paid their tab yet.

Which meant all in all, the evening had cost nothing besides quarters in the jukebox.

"Which is pretty lucky, if you ask me," Rich slurred, turning his head to the side to spit a bloody gob on the sidewalk. Jeremy's arm was around him, supporting him as they swayed and walked. Dimly, there was a part of himself that was aware that he was speaking loudly, an intoxicated babble.

"...I can't believe you," Jeremy said softly.

"What?"

"I...I-I can't believe you-"

"I defended you!"

"You..." Jeremy trailed off. He was angry, Rich realized suddenly. he was angry, and he had tears in his eyes, and Rich's blood on his shirt. And he was mad. His body was shaking. "...I-I'm not going to talk about this now."

"Fuck, fine, I'll go home. Jesus."

"No, you're not...y-you don't just get to run off and..." Jeremy trailed off, exhaling shakily. "We're getting you back home, and I'm going to clean you up, and you...y-you can sleep off your...your drunkenness. A-and we can talk about it tomorrow."

Rich scowled at Jeremy. "Oh, we can talk about it right-"

His stomach twisted, and his face contorted, as he pulled away from Jeremy, bent kneed as he leaned over, vomiting aggressively into someone's petunias.

He could feel Jeremy's eyes on him. Could sense him watching. Staring. Observing.

Drinking in the reality of what his soulmate was.

And his stomach withered as it emptied itself. Rich squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to ignore how badly he wanted to scratch himself free from his own skin.


	18. Chapter 18

Jeremy wasn't afraid of Rich.

Even finding this, this violent, drunken element, this impulsive streak, his sense of the scene wasn't imminent danger or terror. 

Maybe that was stupid. Maybe he needed to separate himself immediately. Take in the scene and realize that Rich was a reckless, dangerous mess, and that he'd just drag Jeremy down the depths of misery if he stuck around too long.

Jeremy watched him sleep, sprawled out in his twin bed, and sighed shakily. The June breeze rustled through the open window, hot and sticky, and he tucked a sheet around his body--Rich had said before he felt more comfortable sleeping with something covering him, even if the temperature was blistering. 

He still wanted him to feel safe. Even if he was...

...god he didn't even want to think it. To acknowledge it. To give it a voice. But Jeremy was completely and hopelessly

pissed. He was so pissed. He was so angry! What the hell had Rich been thinking?

He went back out to the living room, and his anger only spiked as Michael stared at him from his beanbag chair.

"Jer-"

"Shut up," He snapped.

And cringed. "S-sorry, I didn't...didn't mean-"

"Bad night?"

"The worst."

That wasn't true. Jeremy had had worse nights. Worse nights this week alone. No one had touched him, after all. He was safe. Hell, he'd been the stable one. The guiding hand throughout the whole thing.

The catalyst.

And he was so angry at Rich for making him into that. For making him feel like an accelerent to dynamite. Like he'd done something wrong, had somehow triggered this immature outburst. But it wasn't his fault! It wasn't his fault Rich had gotten so drunk. It wasn't his fault that rednecks were so full of judgment and rage. And it wasn't his fault that Rich had thrown that bottle.

But he felt at fault.

And it made him angrier.

And Michael staring at him expectantly, hungry for whatever story, whatever bashing of Rich he might have, only made his rage that much more potent.

"There was a, um, there w-was a fight, at the bar," He finally said. Maybe talking about it would make him feel better. 

"Jesus!" Michael jumped up, going over to Jeremy. His hands fluttered about anxiously, looking over Jeremy for any cuts or scrapes. He'd already changed his clothes, ridding him of any bloodstains from walking Rich home. "What happened?"

"Some...s-some hateful asshole, looking to pick something. He, uh, he called us fags."

Michael winced. And Jeremy's anger faded, if only just a little, if only the lingering bit that had been aimed towards Michael. Because Michael had surely had some intimate knowledge of that particular insult, knew well how it felt to have it flung and stabbed towards you, in a moment of adrenaline and terror. "Fuck, Jeremy," He breathed. "You could have died."

"No, it wasn't...it w-wasn't anything like that." Jeremy sighed, as Michael brought him over to the kitchen. He sat him in one of the chairs, fussing over him uneasily. Jeremy looked at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the weary pattern of his movements, and his stomach hurt with how much he hated himself for causing him any more stress. "It was...it was just a quick little bar brawl. Rich..." There was the anger. The absolute rage. The- "Rich prote...protected me."

"He did?"

"Yeah."

"I...huh. But he's, like, knee-high. He was able to fight off someone?"

"Yeah, he was...it was o-over really quick, like I said. Um. It was just sort of...I don't know. It was annoying, I guess."

"I'm glad Rich was there at least."

Jeremy bit his tongue, swallowed back the urge to stammer out that there wouldn't have been a fight if it weren't for Rich.

"...although, uh, if he's sleeping in the room, where am I going to sleep?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I can go w-wake him up."

"No, no, let ol' slugger sleep it off. Your hero," Michael said with a teasing lilt. Jeremy forced a smile. "You wanna play some galaga before bed?"

Jeremy already knew he wouldn't be able to rest. So what was the harm? "Sure, why not?"

Maybe it would soften the rage a little, to distract himself.

But as the sun rose, and Michael had fallen asleep on his own beanbag chair, Jeremy felt no lessening of anger. He looked up, only when he heard shuffling out of the bedroom. Shuffling, which became frantic running.

Rich was throwing up in the bathroom. Jeremy's nose wrinkled, initially in disgust, before softening into concern. His own stomach gave a sympathy roll of its own, and he rubbed the mark on his forearm absently.

Michael continued his snoring. Jeremy turned off the TV, heading towards the bathroom. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, and waited until Rich gave a croaked, "Come in."

"Pretty sick still?" Jeremy said, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. The door itself was littered with stickers, courtesy of Michael, novelty band stickers and ironic sayings and cartoon characters. He brushed his thumb nail casually over one, picking at it anxiously, as he glanced at his kneeling boyfriend.

Rich grimaced, lips wet with saliva, as he tried to answer. It came out in a gurgle, as he doubled over the toilet with another violent retch.

Jeremy looked away. His fingers itched with the urge for something, maybe a cigarette, until he remembered he didn't smoke. Sometimes Rich tasted like tobacco though. Maybe he was getting nicotine cravings from their kisses.

No. No thinking about kissing right now. Partly because Rich was violently puking, but mostly because Jeremy was trying to sustain his anger, his righteous indignation, now that the actual sight of his boyfriend, pathetic and bruised and hungover, was before him. It was harder to be angry when Rich had to go and be so vulnerable.

"I m-mean, you did do this to yourself," He said, hugging his arms around himself. Rich coughed, spitting into the toilet, before flushing it.

"Wait, what'd you-"

Jeremy turned on his heels, strolling back towards the bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the Eraserhead poster on the wall. He ignored Rich as he walked in, closing the door behind him.

"What'd you-"

"Y-you should brush your teeth. Your, um, your toothbrush is in the normal spot-"

"I did this to myself? Is that what you said?"

Jeremy shrugged.

"No! Don't you fucking...don't shrug at me. Really? You think I did this to myself?"

"I mean, you d-did drink, didn't you?"

Rich paused, assessing Jeremy. He still stood, and Jeremy tightened his arms around himself.

"I mean, yeah, okay. Yeah. So what? I like to drink. It's fun. I mean, not all of us can just sit around and watch movie all day. Some of us have lives."

"Oh y-yeah," Jeremy said dryly. "Really solid, um, life you have. Pickling your liver. Picking fights. Really, like, um, really solid life strategy you have."

"Picking--I was protecting you!"

"He w-wasn't doing anything, you attacked him when his back was turned!"

Rich moved closer, and Jeremy finally stole a glance at him. His one eye was completely swollen shut, though the other was wide, his nostrils flared, breathing unsteady. His fingers clutched and unclutched repeatedly at his sides, before he let out a slow, shaky breath with a low laugh.

"So you think I...what? You think I'm some violent asshole then?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. You...wow. I fucking defended you, Jeremy! Or are you just going to ignore that? You just stood there, like a..."

"Like what?"

"Never mind."

"No. Like what?" Jeremy stood up, his hands quivering angrily at his sides. "Like a fag? Like a bitch??"

"I didn't say that." Rich said, voice small, brittle. He took a step back, running his fingers through his hair. He was still wearing his suit, from his interviews, and Jeremy realized the white button up shirt was stained with blood and beer.

His anger began to dissipate, all the more, with every new detail he drank in.

"But you didn't do anything, Jeremy. You just stood there. Like a fucking...like a coward! You're a fucking coward!"

"I'm not a coward." Jeremy spoke softly. And tried to pretend the words weren't digging into him. Weren't cutting at his tendons and organs bit by bit. He folded his arms, taking a step back briefly. "You're just...you're a reckless idiot!"

No. No, he hadn't meant to say that. Immediately, his mouth flooded with saliva, as though he himself were ill. He swallowed, swallowed it the same way he hadn't swallowed his words.

Rich laughed, shaking his head. "I'm an idiot. Wow. So you think you're fucking better than me, is that it?"

"Rich, I...i-it's really early, we're hungover, let's just-"

"No! No no no, you're not taking that back like that. An idiot. I'm an idiot. Well you know what? You fucking know what?" Rich prodded at Jeremy's chest, one sharp push. "You're fucking right, okay?"

Jeremy's body fell back against the bed, from the momentum of his shove, or perhaps because the weight of his own body had become too lofty.

"You're right. I'm a loser, and a stupid loser at that. I can't even get a job! My own soulmate has to whore around because I'm too fucking pathetic to hold down a minimum wage gig at fucking McDonald's. Is that what you wanted to say? Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that it, Jeremy? Does that make you feel better?"

"Rich..." Jeremy trailed off. There was too much to unpack, and Rich was unraveling so swiftly that he wasn't sure he knew how to knit him back together.

What he did know was that he wanted to try. This wasn't what he'd meant. This wasn't what he wanted.

Rich's hands moved through his hair, fingernails to his scalp, a laughed sob escaping his lips. "I'm a toxic joke, Heere, okay? There, that's the truth for you. Toxic, reckless, dangerous idiot."

"R-Rich, I didn't mean...I'm-"

Rich's hands dropped from his head, as Jeremy stood up, approaching him. He shook, taking a step away, eye wide with fear, holding his hand up uncertainly. "No. No, go back...don't. I'm-"

He was afraid.

Jeremy had been so busy being angry, he hadn't seen that Rich was afraid.

As if he would hurt him.

Jeremy took Rich's hand, pulling it closer and turning it until he was able to very lightly run his other hand over his soulmate mark. "Rich. What you d-did was...was really stupid," He said softly.

Maybe that was the wrong way to go about this.

"I'm-"

"Y-you're not stupid though. I'm sorry. I just..." Jeremy's throat stuck and he looked at Rich with wet eyes, lip shaking and words following their pattern. "I j-just...y-you made me so mad."

"I didn't even know you could get mad," Rich admitted with a small laugh. His laugh became a small sob, as he inched closer to Jeremy. Jeremy tugged him closer by his arm, releasing it only to wrap his arms around Rich's body.

"Y-yeah, I have a lot of, um, hidden rage." Jeremy joked weakly, as Rich rested his head against his chest. Bruises and dried blood and all. Sobbing against him.

"My mouth tastes like ass," Rich blubbered.

"I know," Jeremy said gently, stroking his hair. "I know. We'll go clean up and get back to sleep, okay?"

"I'm sorry I called you a-"

"I know. I know. It's okay." He kissed the top of his head. "First, uh, first fight."

"Yeah. Two of them."

"Huh?"

"First fight at the bar, and now this." Rich glanced up, eyes red rimmed. "I'd rather deal with Beardo, though, this was fucking exhausting."

Jeremy kissed his forehead. "Less, um, less chance for a brain injury though--g-god, why do you keep getting head injuries around me?"

Rich shrugged. "Because we're heading for something great?"

Jeremy snorted, grasping Rich by the shoulders and directing him towards the door. "N-no more puns, your breath is really bad. Let's, uh, let's brush your teeth, okay?"


	19. Chapter 19

Not only was Mr. Heere wearing pants, but they were festive fire cracker pants.

Jeremy seemed hopelessly embarrassed. Rich was hopelessly endeared.

“-and that’s why I stopped going to the local games.”

“A-and because they have a dress code,” Jeremy said wearily. They stood outside, Mr. Heere standing before the grill, pushing the flat end of the spatula down against the meat. Jeremy winced. “D-dad, you’re not supposed to...you’re not actually s-supposed to press it, you lose flavor when-”

“Oh, relax, kiddo, it’s fine.”

Rich smiled as Jeremy slipped his fingers between his own. “I mean, I-I guess if you hate flavor now too, I guess, um, guess it’s fine.”

Rich wanted to laugh. He really did. His lips twitched with the effort it took not to burst into giggles. Jeremy snarking at his father was charming in a way he’d never expected of him. Sure, he’d seen him get mouthy, but seeing this teenagery side of him was new, thrilling, adorable.

But he wanted to make a good impression. And he already had the cards stacked against him. For one thing, he was a boy. Most middle American good ol’ boys (though he seemed more renegade hippie than good ol’ boy) didn’t particularly care for having their sons mating up with other boys.

Even if those boys had tits.

Though Rich was betting on Jeremy not having told Mr. Heere that fact, and on Mr. Heere hopefully not noticing. Rich had wanted to wear his most generous tank top, but had decided on something more formal.

Which was stupid. It was a fourth of July barbecue.

And Michael, who’d come along because of course he’d come along (Rich tried to be bitter about it, but it was more mild amusement), wouldn’t stop sarcastically commenting on Rich’s bow tie. Constant barbs about ‘business school’ and ‘penguins’ and other nonsense that he’d mostly blocked out.

Whatever the case, Rich had tried to dress nicely. Had combed his hair with a new brand of gel and tried to use Jeremy’s iron, before Jeremy had batted him away with a little click of his tongue and done it himself. He’d even worn socks.

Everyone else was in casual attire--well, Jeremy had his cardigan, but that seemed to be his casual look no matter the occasion. A bit much, Rich had said, in 100 degree weather.

So Jeremy had put on shorts.

But kept the cardigan.

He was such a hopeless dork.

Rich smiled, bumping his hip against Jeremy’s, and contemplating how to properly assert himself as a proper companion for Mr. Heere’s only child. Maybe the contact was a bad idea. Maybe that would make him more uncomfortable. Maybe they needed to be stoic and puritanical. Jeremy had told him his father was cool about him being a guy, but cool could mean anything! Rich should have asked more questions.

Because he was a boy. And because he was small and scarred and unappealing. And because he was still unemployed, even though he’d gone to a good seven interviews the end of last month. Though he supposed it was a holiday weekend, it was unlikely he’d get any calls until Monday, but why was he even hoping, and-

“Cheese or no cheese, Rich?”

“Huh? Oh!” Rich glanced at Jeremy, as though expecting him to answer for him, before fumbling his way back into his normal confidence. “Cheese, yeah. I mean please. Thanks.”

“Great!”

“Dad, is that...i-is that generic cheese squares?” 

“There was a sale, Jeremy-”

“Daad, that stuff doesn’t melt.” He stretched out ‘dad’ too. A whiny, petulent child. Rich’s pupils had surely morphed into hearts. Jeremy seemed to grow aware of himself, clearing his throat. “I just, you know, w-would have brought some kraft at least, or actual g-good cheese, if you’d-”

“Yeah, dude,” Michael chirped from the lawn chair he’d commandeered. “You know how Jeremy’s always bitching about cheese.”

Mr. Heere threw his hands up, exasperated, still clutching the World’s Best Dad spatula. “Oh, typical dad, can’t do anything right.”

“A-and now you’re a martyr.”

Rich held his breath, realizing that somewhere between cheerful bickering, his heartrate had begun to jump, and he’d began to anticipate shouting, verbal putdowns, genuine rage.

Shit.

This was getting serious.

Maybe he should do something. Mr. Heere was a big guy, maybe he needed to protect Jeremy. Or maybe he needed to do something to placate both of them. These parental conflicts were never good, Rich was well aware of how badly pissing off your father could go-

They both started to giggle, father and son, Jeremy releasing Rich’s hand to go up closer to the grill. “A-and you’re overcooking these ones, too.”

“People like the char.”

“You do, maybe. No one else w-wants a burned, uh, a burned-”

“Wiener?” Michael supplied.

“H-hot dog,” Jeremy countered.

“I dunno,” Rich said. “Burned food is kinda the best sometimes.”

“My man!” Mr. Heere said enthusiastically.

Just like that.

Rich was in.

Rich grinned as Jeremy good-naturedly rolled his eyes at him. He shrugged, as the topic slipped back into easy small talk and summertime comraderie.

It was nice, Rich thought. This suburban comfort, family and sun and outdoor cooking. The Fourth had always been Rich’s favorite holiday anyway, and this might have been the best one he’d had in recent memory.

Even Michael’s commentary and jokes had a comforting edge. This was the kind of life that Rich wanted forever. White picket fences and hamburgers eaten on patio furniture.

“God, this is the whitest shit,” Michael said. And then added, “It’s too bad this is going to be our last one.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Heere asked as he dished another hot dog onto Rich’s empty paper plate. Rich tried to protest, but his ravenous appetite prevented it. It’d be rude to deny him after it was already there, after all.

“I mean, I don’t think we’re going to have much of a taste for fireworks once the millenium bug causes all the world’s missiles to fire at once.”

“O-oh for f-fu--god’s sakes, Michael,” Jeremy muttered. “It’s a holiday.”

“I’m sure everything is going to be fine, Michael,” Mr. Heere said reassuringly, the sort of comforting Dad voice that Rich was well aware of in sitcoms, but not in reality. He leaned in, a sense of longing for that sort of parental calm infecting him.

“Fine, maybe we won’t be nuked. But all our computers, financial data, traffic lights, airplanes, all of it, all undone by one little fluke of code. How are you guys not freaking out more about this?” Michael grabbed a fistful of chips, shoving them into his mouth aggressively. “All I’m saying,” he said, “is we need to enjoy these moments while they last.”

“T-trying to,” Jeremy scowled. “But you keep bringing up...up our impending doom. It’s, um, a bit of a downer.”

“Yeah, Mikey,” Rich needed to support his boyfriend. “I-”

“Did you just call me Mikey??”

“I like that,” Mr. Heere said. “Mikey. That’s a good name for you.”

“I...no, I’m not a...don’t encourage him!”

“You need to take a chill pill, dude.” Rich grabbed Jeremy’s sprite, casually sipping out of his straw. He set it back down, and watched the way Michael stared at him in incredulous annoyance.

“Yeah, well, you know, life’s all cherries and rainbows for you two!”

Jeremy held up a hand, shaking his head. “We’re, uh, not arguing about this right now. Or at all. Dad, do we have sparklers? I could really, uh, I think we could all really go for, um, some sparklers right now.”

Michael pressed his lips together firmly, finally releasing his breath and nodding. “Yeah, I could go for a sparkler, I guess.”

“I’ll get the matches!”

Mr. Heere ran off to gather supplies, and Rich glanced between Jeremy and Michael, anxious to see if they were about to burst into an explosive argument.

“Anyway, I went to go see South Park,” Michael said casually.

And Jeremy lit up, as Rich knew he would when the topic was broached. “When’d you go?” After all, it wasn’t just Michael seeing a movie that Jeremy liked. It wasn’t just the fact that he was supporting R rated adult animation in cinemas, a topic which Jeremy seemed very strongly for. But it was the fact that Michael had left the house at all, gone out on his own.

Rich was really starting to pick up on their dynamic, the more he was around them. Or at least he liked to think he was picking up on it. Maybe he was inventing his own narrative. But it seemed to him that JEremy grew elated whenever Michael put in the bare minimum of activity which implied a sound mental health outlook. 

“Tuesday. I don’t know, it was the day you two went to the skate park--which, really, Jer? The skate park? What, are you going to start wearing JNCOs next and a backwards baseball cap?. But yeah. Uh, the attendant sort of fucked it up though.”

“What do you mean?”

“She, ugh, sold me to Big Daddy instead. And I just...ugh, I didn’t realize until the movie already started, so I just stayed.”

“The Adam Sandler movie?” Jeremy didn’t quite wrinkle his nose. But he seemed less than impressed.

“I mean, he’s your people, babe,” Rich pointed out.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, kicking Rich’s shin lightly under the table. “H-he wasn’t that funny on SNL, and he’s n-nothing special on the big screen, he’s no people of mine. God, Michael--sorry, Mikey...I can’t believe you sat through that crap when you could’ve been watching South Park instead.”

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?”

MIchael argued his case, and Jeremy countered him with a sense of academic prowess that blew Rich’s mind. He sat back, listening to the two banter, as Mr. Heere returned with the fireworks. He set the bags down, talking over Michael and Jeremy about the various fountains and smoke bombs and pyrotechnics he’d gotten.

The back of Rich’s neck tingled uncomfortably. He supposed it was the heat and ignored it.

The sparklers were nice, as the sun began to set. It was a bit childish, Rich supposed, but he was hardly going to protest something for being too immature. Mr. Heere kept snapping pictures with his disposable camera, as Jeremy countered that “I g-got you that nice camera for your birthday t-two years ago, why aren’t you using that?” as if the picture quality was the most important part of the scene.

Granted, given his film fetish, it probably was important to him. Rich imagined he was growing ever more impatient and unsatisfied with the poor framing and lighting of each of the snaps of the flash.

Really, the discomfort didn’t fully set in until they began lighting off the fountains.

Rich watched, frozen, as the large balls of fire and kinetic energy exploded skyward, sparking and glittering on their descent. He cringed with every crackle and pop, every firey explosion. 

He’d expected this evening to involve laying back and making out under the strobes of light and fire.

Instead, his blood felt icy and every scar seemed to ignite anew in phantom memory of his original scorching.

...the studio had felt so tiny and so large all at once. The beams had shattered down around him, sharp banging sounds as more boards and cameras shattered and exploded with the heat pressure. He’d stood still, the frayed edges of his costume dress burning up against him, sizzling inward until the flame kissed his skin, and the smell of burnt flesh had choked him. Was it his own? Was it his coworkers’? Was it Moses? Where was Moses? Where was the exit? Oh god, he couldn’t see through the smoke, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-

“Rich?”

Rich’s skin felt clammy and sticky with sweat, his body wobbling as Jeremy clutched onto his arm. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, as though it had been melted into place. Jeremy stared at him, though his expression was distant, as though looking at him from the wrong end of a telescope.

He said his name again, and Rich finally pried his tongue free.

“I’m fine,” He gasped, voice scarcely more than a single breath. Jeremy’s hand, cool and comforting and soft, pressed against his cheek, against his forehead, as though checking for a fever.

“Everything okay?” Mr. Heere started to turn towards them--he and Michael hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss, thankfully, and Rich felt a shooting of icy-hot shame and panic pierce through him in the midst of his silent terror.

“Yeah.” Jeremy said. “Y-yeah, you guys go ahead and, uh, you guys do the rest. I wanna show, um, Rich hasn’t seen the house yet.”

“Can’t he see that after?” Michael asked. The look Jeremy shot at the back of his head was murderous, and almost humorous. Except Rich couldn’t find the energy to laugh.

He didn’t think he could find teh energy to do much of all, actually.

But Jeremy seemed to find strength enough for both of them.

“Well, I r-really want to show him some stuff. You guys, uh, you guys keep going. We’ll be back out later.” He hooked his arm through Rich’s, and walked him towards the house.

The inside was cool, air conditioned, and it felt both chilling and comforting. The opposite of fire and suffocating smoke. Rich shivered, as Jeremy walked him through the kitchen, past the living room, past a hallway and towards a staircase.

“Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Yeah,” Rich said softly. Even though he didnt’ think so.

But he managed, footfall by footfall, until they were to the second floor. Jeremy lead him towards his childhood bedroom, the bed somehow bigger than the one he currently had, and set him ont he edge of the mattress. He knelt before him, hands on Rich’s knees, as he looked at him with eyes full of concern.

“Didn’t, um, d-didn’t like the fireworks?”

“Oh, they were fine,” Rich lied. “I think I ate something bad or something. I don’t know.”

“I mean, m-my dad did screw up the food by, um, pressing those burgers.” He joked gently, squeezing Rich’s knees. He pulled himself up, taking a seat beside him on the bed. He wrapped his arm around Rich’s waist, tugging him in flush against his side, and Rich found himself resting his head against his shoulder. “Or m-maybe it was all Michael’s doomsday bullshit.”

“He is pretty bleak sometimes, isn’t he?”

“He is! I could sm-smack him.” Jeremy sighed. “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t actually hit him. But read a room, Mikey.”

Rich nuzzled against his shoulder, laughing softly. “Yeah.”

“...I should, um, should’ve known that it might be uncomfortable though. The, um...everything. This was a lot, to put on you.”

“No,” Rich lifted his head. “No, I...no, Jeremy. I liked this.”

“My dad is-”

“Hilarious. I’ve never...my dad’s nothing like him.” Rich’s jaw set uncomfortably. “This is the nicest holiday I think I’ve ever had.”

“...y-you almost passed out.”

“Yeah, well, no pain no gain.” He pressed his pinky against Jeremy’s, wriggling it in until they were locked together. “...I had a boyfriend before.”

Why was he saying that? Why the hell was he saying that now?

“You d-did?”

“Yeah. Back when I was still doing movies. He...we met while I was playing hooky from set one day. At a fucking soda shoppe. Did you know they even still had soda shoppes? So cheesy.” He laughed, but it faltered. “Um. He...I got him a job. On the set of my last movie.”

He waited for Jeremy to stop him. To ask him what this had to do with anything. He looked at him, watched the way those wide blue eyes stared at him, transfixed, fascinated, tragically captivated. And he didn’t want to go on. He didnt’ want to make him feel less than. Didn’t want him to think he was comparing them. 

And he didn’t want to admit it. To remember.

“...um. You know. The last movie. The...god, that movie. I just had to be in an action movie. And Mo...my boyfriend, he...he was only a couple years older than me, he didn’t have any experience...none of us had any fucking experience, it was a first time project for so many of the crew...and I...he…” Rich’s throat closed in, lips shaking. 

Outside, the night sky erupted with lights and passion. And Rich winced, each fresh explosion hurting worse than the last. 

“...he was there, d-during the...during the fire?” Jeremy supplied softly.

Rich swallowed, tried to make his mouth less sticky, less trapped. He failed, and so could do nothing more than nod.

Jeremy’s breath was shaky and he blinked, looking ahead, as he increased the contact of their hand, not just pinky to pinky, but now a full hold. He squeezed Rich’s hand. “D...did...h-he didn’t-”

“It’s my fault.” Rich said. The truth had to come out. He had to tell Jeremy. Preferably somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t filled with Jeremy’s childhood memories. Rich wanted to bury everything and instead explore, look into the trinkets and details that had made up Jeremy’s youth.

Instead, he was spilling his traumas indecently all over the bedspread.

“My fault,” He repeated. “If he hadn’t met me...if I hadn’t had to do this stupid movie...if I hadn’t begged him to come on set, to try his hand at practical effects, if I’d...fuck. He was just a kid too. We were all just stupid kids. And I killed him.”

“Y-you didn’t kill him,” Jeremy said slowly. He turned in the bed, his kneecaps pressing against Rich’s. He took Rich’s other hand with his own. “It was an accident. A horrible, f-fucked up tragic accident. But it w-wasn’t your fault. You were...you were so young. You c-couldn’t have known any of this could have happened.”

Rich shrugged. “I ruined everything. I ruin everything. And now...now I’m with you.” He looked up, the revelation washing over him in a wave of disgust. He wanted to tear his hands away from Jeremy, but he couldn’t. “I’m with you, and…”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You don’t know that.” Rich’s body itched, an all over fluttering sensation, every edge of every scar hanging heavy off his body. “I’m cursed, or poisonous, or something. I-”

Jeremy leaned forward, his lips dusting over Rich’s. The kiss was gentle, tender, and Rich gripped onto Jeremy’s hands as he found himself desperately returning it. Reeling himself back into the present, pulling himself fist over fist out of the fire and into Jeremy’s hold once more.

“I’m s-sorry about your boyfriend,” Jeremy said softly. His eyes were bright. “I’m s...sorry about the fire. You must have been so scared. I...you’re really brave.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. You’re really...you’re a lot stronger than you, um, than you give yourself credit for. And...and I just…” His voice caught and Jeremy looked up, laughing weakly as tears collected in his eyes. “S-sorry. Just...thinking about it...th-thinking about how you could have d...di...could have been hurt even worse...I’m just...I-I’m just really glad you’re here. That we met. That’s all.”

Rich leaned in again, stealing another kiss from him. The change in position jostled Jeremy’s tears, causing them to drip onto Rich’s face. Rich drew back, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the bridge of Jeremy’s.

“Hey. Bad timing, probably, but uh, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

Jeremy laughed. Just what Rich had always wanted, to be laughed at while giving a love confession.

Except his chest felt warm. Full. Happy. Maybe it was exactly what he wanted.

“Yeah,” Jeremy whispered. “I th-think I’m in love with you too.”

Rich combed his fingers through Jeremy’s hair, pulling him in close and kissing the tip of his nose, then his lips again. “Your dad and Michael probably think we’re up here fucking.”

“Y-yeah, probably.” 

“We should go back down.”

“In a f-few minutes.” He looped his arms around Rich’s neck, resting his forehead against him. “Just want to...to hold you for a little bit longer.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a perspective swap.

Michael wished he could shove his feelings down as easily as he was able to shove his hands into his pockets.

He slinked lower in his hoodie, shoulders hunched, and avoided every eye that seemed to linger predatorial on him with every footstep. Everyone seemed to see him. Know him. Consume him.

His chest thumped painfully, as he scuttled down the sidewalk, pushing himself as far away from the curb as he could, and as far away from shoulders and legs and hands and eyes and the overall reach of anyone that might meet him harm.

And god knew there were a lot of people who could cause harm.

It wasn’t rational to think like that, he tried to remind himself. He was fine. It was the middle of the day, he was in a populated area of town, the shopping distcict no less. He had nothing that marked him as out of the ordinary, no jewels or electronics that might mark him as someone worth robbing. He was safe.

Completely safe.

At least for now. At least until everything about the grid, their fragile hold on society, crumbled out from under their feet. In truth, he thought the missiles might be the best outcome. A quick arsenal of weapons and fallout to take them out quickly. The worst would be leaving them to the riots. The hordes that would tear him and Jeremy apart.

Jeremy…

A knot tightened in Michael’s throat, as he considered Jeremy. He hunched deeper into his jacket. 

He used to be able to read Jeremy so easily. What had happened? Had it been stolen with him along with everything else that had been taken That Night? Had the magnetic energy of the earth already shifted because of the millenium bug, thus changing Michael’s ability to pick up on the one person who’d mattered most?

Was it Rich?

Michael’s fingers tightened in his pockets.

It had to be that. Something to do broadly with the soulmate bond. Michael didn’t have to roll up his sleeve to remember his own vividly, the brilliance of the blue, the swirling patterns.

How close, how torturously close, it lined up with Jeremy’s. Except his curved left where Jeremy’s curved right.

Seeing Rich and Jeremy...seeing their marks together...it was so obvious Michael had never been a perfect fit.

So obvious. So stupid. So fucking stupid.

Michael paused in front of one of the town’s antique stores, considering ducking in. The dim lights would suit him well, but the busybody shopkeeper would likely trail behind him until he left. Certain of his own dishonesty. The judgement and prejudices of this town. Michael kept walking.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he needed to keep moving.

“I’m, uh, I’m thinking,” Jeremy had said. Soft, nervous, but hopeful. He’d smiled, playing with the sleeves of his cardigan. “I’m thinking, um, m-maybe we could use another roommate.”

“Why?” Michael had kept his eyes fixed on the television, transfixed by Link. 

“W-well, it might help with rent-”

“We already paid tihs month’s rent. Besides, we don’t have an extra room.”

“Well, um. Well, maybe we could have the new roommate, uh, share my bed.”

Michael had hesitated, finally setting down the control. His voice came out small, a ball of disbelief rolling through his voice. “You’re talking about Rich.”

“Well…”

“Isn’t that a little sudden?” How long ahd they been together? How long had Michael been shoved to the sidelines? He’d blinked, disbelieving.

“I mean, well, um, he is my s...soulmate.”

“Oh god, don’t give me that. You’ve still only been together a few months.”

“Five. Five months.”

“No. Absolutely not. It’s too soon.”

Jeremy had laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mchael, um, come on. You know...y-you know it’s bound to happen, why are-”

“We don’t have room. We need to seriously stock up on supplies here. And the new generator. It’s already tight in here with just two people.”

“He’s, uh, he’s pretty small. I don’t, um, I don’t think he’ll take up much space. And...a-and I’ve been thinking, maybe we don’t actually need another generator…”

“I already told you. We need it. Even if it just ends up being a bargaining chip with the inevitable marauders and bandits. We will need it.”

Jeremy’s lips pressed tight for a moment, before he’d finally said, “I-I just think...th-think it might be nice to have someone else here.”

“He doesn’t even work.” Michael had felt a tickle of hypocrisy. But his anger pushed the words out anyway. “It’s not like he’d help with anything, monetarily. He’s a freeloader.”

That wasn’t fair. He’d known he needed to take that back. And truth be told, he was starting to warm to Rich. Rich, who’d protected him during that bar fight. Rich, who made Jeremy smile like no one else.

Like Michael never could.

There was that knot again, tighter and tighter, but somehow growing larger the more it constricted.

“I...I work enough to...I can handle it.” Jeremy hugged his arms around himself. “Michael, I...I-I really love him, okay? I want to live with him. And I...I-I want to live with him here, but if I have to-”

“You’ll leave me?” Michael filled in before Jeremy could say it. “You’ll, what, go shack up in the trailer park?”

“I-”

“Really? We moved in together. You...you said you wanted to be my roommate. And you’re just going to run off with your boyfriend? He doesn’t...I bet he doesn’t even have bottled water stocked up or anything! What’re you going to do, when the water lines go dry? Huh? Or when the nuclear winter hits and he doesn’t have so much as a candle, let alone a generator for heat? What are you going to do when-”

“Shut up! Shut up about the apocalypse! Just shut up!”

Jeremy’s voice had been sharp. Sharp and desperate and pained and angry. 

Michael should have frozen. Taken it in. Reeled himself back.

But instead-

“One of us has to worry! One of us has to keep us safe. One of us-”

“All I DO is keep us safe!” Jeremy’s voice had shaken so hard, his entire body a quivering mess of desperate anger. “All I d-do...e-everything I do...you think I don’t keep us safe, Michael?”

“No. No, I don’t think you take any of this seriously. You think I’m a joke.”

“I d-don’t think you’re a joke! I think you’re...you’re a traumatized, paranoid wreck, Michael. That’s what I think.” Jeremy’s voice had softened, as he stepped closer. “Michael…” he’d reached out, grasping Michael’s arm. Their marks were so close, and Michael desperately tried to feel a connection, a bond, an intimate sense of warmth and belonging.

All he’d felt was emptiness.

He tore his arm away. “I’m not paranoid,” He’d snarled. “You’re just selfish.”

“I’m s-selfish?”

Michael hadn’t been able to respond. Jeremy was silent for a moment, staring at him with wild eyes, shoulders rising and falling with every desperate breath.

“I’m selfish? Michael…” He trailed off, laughing softly, shaking his head. “M-Michael, how do you think we...how do you think we afford this place?”

“Shut up.”

“How...h-how do we pay rent?”

“Jer-”

“Who’s k-keeping the power on? And b-buying groceries? And buying all your little end of the world hobby supplies?”

“It’s not a hobby, take that bac-”

“Do y-you have any idea how hard I work to...what I have to do to...y-you don’t even care. You don’t even care about me, do you?”

Michael could hear the pain in his voice. It echoed even now, after the fact. You don’t even care about me. Words that would etch into his skull until the end of days. That was how Jeremy felt, deep down, underneath all his joy of new love and exhaustion from work and intrigue for filmography.

He thought Michael didn’t care about him.

His stomach twisted violently at the notion.

“Jer,” This time, it had been Michael who’d reached out. “Jer, of course I care about-”

“No.” Jeremy said softly. “Michael. Y-you don’t...you have no idea what I do. To keep us alive. T-to take care of us. I…” His voice had caught for a moment, and he’d looked away. 

With a swallow and a wipe at his eyes, he’d finally said it.

“I’m a whore, Michael.”

Whore.

Michael had almost laughed. But Jeremy looked so lost, so scared, so ashamed, so ashen, that he’d forgotten how to speak.

“A-and I...it’s the only thing I c-can do. I don’t...d-don’t have any experience in anything else. No education. I h-haven’t even written a basic outline in over a year, let alone pick up my camera. H-Have you even noticed I haven’t been filming?”

“Jeremy-”

“No. It d-doesn’t...it doesn’t matter. You...y-you didn’t ask me to do this, I don’t...I d-don’t blame you. I...g-god. I fuck strangers for money, Michael, okay? And I’ll fuck a million more if it means I can come home to someone who makes me happy. A-and I know, I know when I first met him, I told you I’d stop, that I wouldn’t see him, i-if you didn’t want me to, but,” He held his head high, shoulders rolled back. “Y-you’re not going to make me choose. I’m not p-playing that game. And...a-and if you don’t like it, then…”

But Michael hadn’t waited to find out what he’d do, if he didn’t like it.

Because he’d left. Numbly pulling on his shoes and stumbling out the door.

He should have worn a t-shirt. Sweating didn’t suit the mood he was in. He continued his pace, as he ran the conversation over and over through his head.

Whore.

That was what Jeremy had meant, all those times he’d said he was going on dates. All those times he’d claimed romance and intrigue, instead he’d been selling himself, piece by piece, just to hold the sinking ship of their livelihood afloat.

Michael thought about their life before That Night. And he realized he was standing in front of the record store, the one he’d worked at before he’d lost himself inside himself.

Maybe if he’d scraped himself together faster, Jeremy wouldn’t have felt the need to degrade himself. Michael rubbed his eyes on the back of his sleeve, and pushed open the door.

The attempt to throw himself at the shop owner’s mercy would prove hopeless.

“Oh, yes, I remember you.” The old man said, after MIchael had stammered a plea for his job back, for a second chance. I remember you. With cold eyes and a frown, arms crossed with judgement.

Was this how Jeremy felt, if to a greater extent, on his “jobs”? Humiliated and cheap and low? Michael wasn’t one to normally cower under authority, but he shrank back, bowed his head.

“I’m sorry.” 

And he found his way towards the stacks of records. The familiar rows of artists. He realized he hadn’t the funds to buy anything, and truly what he needed was to escape, to run back out onto the streets and pace and pace and pace until he rubbed himself down to something less hurtful.

It wasn’t the first time he’d fought with Jeremy. And though a part of him feared that Jeremy might turn to Rich instead, and forgo any sort of reconciliation, in truth Michael knew this wouldn’t happen. They might not be soulmates, but they were two halves of something.

Michael had just worn out the ends of himself which had once fit so smoothly with Jeremy’s. He needed to figure out how to restore those pieces.

And maybe that meant browsing at the record store he’d never work for again. A sense of goodbye, of clarity.

His hands hovered, past Nirvana and the Butthole Surfers and Semisonic and Pansy Division. He flickered through the records, eyes halflidded behind his glasses with a flickering sense of comfort.

Which ended up shaken as an angular arm jabbed against Michael’s.

Michael scowled, glancing up to demand an apology, or to sputter out an indignation. 

“Sorry,” The man said. He was tall, built like a triangle--the proportions weren’t unpleasant, just extremely athletic, a contrast to Michael’s own doughier physique...perhaps triangle was too harsh a description, but whatever the case, the man had broad shoulders. His cheekbones were high, and his lips seemed fixed into an almost permanent smile. “You think they carry Britney Spears here?”

“I’m sure you can pick up her CD at Walmart.” There was some sense of artistry to top of the charts pop music, Michael was sure. At least, he liked it once it was properly aged.

But this was an affront to his sensibilities. 

“Maybe, but my niece...well, she’s totally into old school vibes but modern divas.”

“I’d hardly call Spears a diva. She hasn’t earned the right yet.” Michael stuck his nose up slightly, and caught the brightness of the man’s blue eyes, fixed curiously upon him. “Um. Sorry.”

“No, I hear you. I mean, I think her first single was kind of catchy. I must confess, I still believe,” He crooned, out of tune, above the Joy Division currently playing in the shop.

Michael smiled despite himself. “I don’t know. I think we should leave the ‘believe’ing to Cher. Now there’s a diva.”

“Eh. I don’t get the appeal.”

“Wow. Really?”

“I mean, I guess I liked her in _Mask_.”

Michael snorted. “Who remembers _Mask_?”

Jeremy would. Michael’s stomach hurt.

“I mean, I liked Jim Carrey’s cameo.”

“Wrong _Mask_ \--oh, you’re trying to be funny. Cute. Very cute.”

“Hey, I try.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jake.”

“I’m…” Their hands touched, and Michael’s veins burned. Strange. It must have been his firm grip. His eyes traveled up, taking in the solid eye contact.

Blue. Like the ocean tide, mirky at the edges with sea foam, then crystal clear as they spiraled in towards his pupils. The sort of marbeling effect that Michael was aware of on his…

His eyes dropped down, to Jake’s arm. The sleeve snugly gripping his upper arm, his bulging biceps, and then moving down to his forearm.

His mark was brown, a chocolate hue that made Michael suck in a startled breath. He looked back up again, and a wobbly smile crossed his lips.

“I’m...thinking we should go grab a bite to eat or something, dude.”


	21. Chapter 21

“I feel like such an asshole.”

Jeremy’s voice was small, almost timid, and he sat nearly doubled over, his head cradled in his hands. Rich frowned as he looked over at him, seated on his sofa, surounded on both sides by a gaggle of cats. He stopped stirring the pot of generic mac and cheese, walking into the living room.

“You’re not an asshole.”

“I-I’m absolutely an asshole.” He dropped his hands, head hanging for a moment. It reminded him of a marionette with its strings cut. Jeremy raised his eyes, eyes redrimmed from crying. He seemed to have exhausted himself from anymore desperate sobbing, though, instead speaking in a near monotone, voice ragged and scratched. “What if...what if he tries to move out or something?”

“I doubt he’s going to do that.”

“W-what if he gets...gets hurt, tonight, and the...th-the last thing we did was fight?”

“Babe.”

“Well? What if?”

“That’s not going to happen.” He picked up one of the cats, setting her on the ground, then taking a seat next to Jeremy. “You’ll get past this.”

“M-maybe.” He sighed as Rich brought him down to lay against his shoulder. “I j-just...god. Am I just a t-total prick and no one bothered to tell me?”

Rich snorted. “No. Not even close.”

“Because, um, because I feel kind of like a prick.”

“Standing up for yourself doesn’t make you a prick. You, like, deserve to take up space too, man.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I guess.”

“What even started the fight?”

“I-it doesn’t matter.” Jeremy rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Your pot is, um, b-boiling over.”

“Nice. Wait. Not nice! Shit!” Rich jumped up, running back to the kitchen.

The meal was hardly anything to write home about, the noodles too gummy, the cheese granual. Rich didn’t mind it, but he watched Jeremy poke and play with the concoction, and sighed apologetically. “Man. I should have ordered a pizza or something.”

“N-no, this is fine.”

“I didn’t expect you to come over, or I’d--I mean, I’m glad you came over! I just-”

It was all he had in the cabinets. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do this week for food, but he’d need to figure something out quickly. 

“I-it’s really okay. I’m just not very hungry. I k-keep thinking about...god. I just keep thinking. I wish I could, uh, stop that, you know?”

“Stop thinking?”

“Yeah.”

“I probably have some whiskey leftover.”

Jeremy shook his head. “Not...n-not in the mood to drink.”

The idea of not being in the mood to drink was a headscratcher to say the least. But he wasn’t in any mood to press deeper into that open wound of a topic. 

“Maybe I can distract you another way.”

Jeremy shrugged, and didn’t protest as Rich grabbed the paper plate from his lap, setting it on the ground. He winced when the cats immediately swarmed it, licking at the cheesy noodles. There was a waste of food, right there. And it probably wasn’t even good for the cats. But that was okay. Worst case, he’d just rinse the noodles off and-

Not important.

He placed his hand against Jeremy’s thigh, his other hand gently easing his chin until he was facing him. “I love you,” He said, because he could, because it was true, because something needed to be said.

And because it made Jeremy smile, just like that, like nothing could ever trouble him again. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his gaze dropping down to his lap. “Th-thank you.” Then, softer, as though savoring the words, he added, “I l-love you too.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m pretty amazing.” He lifted his chin up again, and leaned forward, very lightly brushing their lips together. It was a small kiss, a tease, and Jeremy sighed softly, happily, leaning forward as Rich broke away.

“Y-you’re okay, I guess.”

“Just okay?”

“Ehhh…” Jeremy shrugged. “I’ve seen b-better, I’ve seen worse.”

“Wow. The lack of gratitude in Gen X. Unreal.”

“E-eat my shorts, old man.”

Rich laughed, cupping Jeremy’s face between his palms and dragging him close until they were kissing again. He could have argued that he was less than a year older than Jeremy, or imparted some charming study about the stunted maturity of child stars, which inevitably meant that the real old man here was Jeremy. But he preferred kissing.

Jeremy’s lips moved tremulously over Rich’s. Rich slid over him, moving himself, shifting his leg, until he was pouring himself into Jeremy’s lap. He didn’t break contact with their mouths as he did so, settling in a straddle in his lap. His lips parted, as he coaxed Jeremy’s to follow suit. Their tongues tangled and clashed, and Rich grasped Jeremy’s hair, pulling it lightly, scraping his fingernails over his scalp as he pulled his head back. Jeremy gasped as their mouths separated, his eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling as Rich’s lips moved down to his neck.

Rich released his hold on Jeremy’s hair, but Jeremy kept his head tilted back, as Rick kissed against the pulse point of his throat. He could feel his heartrate fluttering, and he smiled, self-satisfied, at how drastically he’d gotten those precious beats to race each other.

“You’re just really pretty,” Rich admittedly softly, scraping his teeth over Jeremy’s skin. He bit him, and Jeremy hissed. He released his teeth’s hold, kissing the indents he’d left behind.

“You’re, um, you’re…” Jeremy trailed off, his voice tapering off into a little whine of confused longing.

Rich chuckled softly, dropping one hand to slide over Jeremy’s chest. He thumbed against his cardigan, peeling it back and letting it slip off Jeremy’s body. His hand pressed flat against his chest after, and he squeezed his nipple through his shirt. Jeremy jerked up against him, as Rich began to suck on his collarbone.

Rich didn’t want to rush him. Or pressure him. But god did he want him. He wanted him, he wanted to see him, to feel him, to taste him. He wanted to make him feel good and wanted and beautiful. And he wanted him to feel who he belonged to, to know that he was all Rich’s. 

Rich bit and sucked at his neck in odd patterns, leaving him bruised and marked. He kissed up the slope of his neck, until he was back to his face. He kissed him again, hard, stealing the breath from his lungs and forcing Jeremy to slump back against the couch with a stunned sigh.

“You’d tell me, right?” Rich murmured, between stealing kisses. He rolled Jeremy’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging at it, all with the barrier of cotton t-shirt. “If you wanted me to stop?”

Jeremy blinked, numbly shaking his head up and down. His face was red, forehead glossy with sweat, and his tongue swiped over his swollen lips. Rich leaned in, trapping his tongue with his mouth and melting into yet another dizzying kiss.

Jeremy felt so soft underneath him. Rich squeezed his thighs against his hips, lifting himself a few inches, before grinding down against him. Jeremy’s hands slipped down Rich’s back, until they slid into the back pockets of his jeans. Jeremy squeezed his ass, a testingly little gesture that brought a wicked grin to Rich’s mouth.

“You still haven’t answered me, babe. You’d tell me to stop, right? If it was too much?” Wait. Yes, he had answered. Rich frowned, shaking his head. “Sorry, you nodded. Right. Consent granted, yeah?”

Another nod, Jeremy staring at him with a sense of crazed wonder.

“Cool.”

Rich slipped his hands underneath Jeremy’s shirt. His cold fingers moved over his stomach at first, pressing at him curiously. He was so thin, stomach concave, skin silky smooth, and Rich marveled as his hands rose at the sensation of his ribs through his skin. The hardness of his bones only amplified how gentle the rest of him felt in comparison.

Jeremy’s shirt hiked upward as Rich slid his hands upward, until he was passing his thumbs over his nipples. They were hard, perked with the coolness of Rich’s touch and with his arousal. Rich bit Jeremy’s bottom lip, sucking it almost idly, as he continued to toy with his nipples. Jeremy arched against the couch, giving Rich’s ass another desperate grope.

Rich leaned in, nuzzling against Jeremy’s cheek, then pressing his lips up against his ear. He teased his tongue over the lobe, briefly, before huskily panting, “I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life.” He nipped at his ear, and smiled at the clear catch to Jeremy’s breath.

Jeremy’s cock felt heavy and hard, pressed between Rich’s sprawled legs. Even with the sock stuffed into his underwear, he could distinctly feel every inch of his erection. Rich mentally tried to piece together an image of it, his tongue swiping excitedly over the back of his teeth. He wanted to tear Jeremy’s clothes off, to worship the entirety of his body.

So why not do just that?

He drew his hands out from underneath Jeremy’s shirt, grasping it and yanking it up over his head. Jeremy looked at him, stunned, once he’d been disrobed from the waist up. His body was slender, just as his hands had already proven in his initial assessment. His nipples were a sweet pink against his chest, similar to the glow of his lips, and Rich leaned in, taking one into his mouth. 

Jeremy’s hands slid down, now on the back of Rich’s thighs rather than on his ass. Rich felt hot, constricted in his own clothing, but the idea of disrobing evaded him. 

...no, the thought actually did cross his mind, that was a lie.

It just scared him too much to really consider doing it right now. And he didn’t want to introduce fear into any of this. Jeremy was stressed out, and Rich wanted to worship him, and that was enough. They didn’t need to think about going further than that. He moved over to Jeremy’s other nipple, swirling his tongue around it, before finally wrapping his lips around it. 

Jeremy’s hands were moving inward, rubbing at Rich’s inner thighs from behind. Rich moaned, surprised, giving a roll of his hips down against his cock again.

Rich began to pull himself away, only for Jeremy to pull on him, keeping him pressed down on top of him. Rich rested his hands against Jeremy’s shoulders, smiling hazily at him as they began to kiss again. He lifted his hips, sliding one hand down away from his shoulders, letting it drip down Jeremy’s body, his chest, his stomach, until he had his palm pressed against his cock through his jeans.

Fuck. That felt amazing.

Rich squeezed him, and felt the way Jeremy moaned against his mouth. He loosened his grip, instead stroking over every ridge and detail of his shaft through the denim. 

His fingers eventually found his zipper, tugging it down tooth by jagged tooth. THe sound was obscene, even mixing with the wet sounds of their kissing. Rich broke their kiss, touching the tip of his nose against Jeremy’s. Playful, reassuring, trying to get a sense for Jeremy’s mood.

Jeremy smiled at him, face brilliantly crimson. Rich laughed softly, kissing his cheek, as he popped open the button of his pants.

He didn’t want to pull himself away, but he wanted to see more. He slinked down his body, until he was kneeling before the couch. He looked up at Jeremy, cartoon hearts swimming around his dizzy head. He grasped Jeremy’s jeans, thumbs through the belt loops, and tugged until Jeremy lifted his hips, slid his pants clean down to his ankles. He took his time to draw them off, first one foot, then the other, until Jeremy sat before him in nothing but his briefs. The fabric had a wet spot from his precum, and Rich’s mouth watered desperately. He pushed Jeremy’s legs apart, kissing his inner thigh. 

This was mana. This was the feast of the gods. This was ambrosia most sweet. Jeremy’s skin, his thighs, so soft and full and begging to be bitten, kissed, sucked, worshipped. Rich’s lips parted, opened mouth kisses lining first one leg, then the other, going up and up and up, so close, but then tapering back down again with teasing longing.

Jeremy seemed too stunned to speak, eyes wide and lips parted. He looked down at Rich, as Rich slipped his hand upward, until he was teasing against the elastic legging of his underwear. He peeled it upward, slipping his fingers inside.

His hand settled against Jeremy’s cock, the back of his hand pressed down by the pressure of his underwear. He wrapped his fingers around him, and both boys moaned in tandem, both rushing with gratitude and disbelief.

Rich squeezed him, moving his grip from base up to tip. One jerky stroke, halted by the cloth that still provided some modesty. “Jesus,” Rich breathed. “Jesus, I need to see you. I need to see you, babe. Is that okay?”

Jeremy offered another nod, and helped move to assist him as Rich used his other hand to begin sliding down his underwear, inch by precious inch. He stared, watching as his skin unveiled itself for his starved gaze.

Jeremy’s cock sprung free, Rich’s hand still around it, and Rich stared at the glistening head, and took every bit of self control to keep from swallowing it right then and there.

Perfection. Absolute perfection. Rich bit his lip, squeezing his thighs together. He was so wet, could feel himself soaking the rolled sock he used as a makeshift packer, and he felt sweat drip down his back, his clothes clinging tightly to his wound-up body. 

He pulled at Jeremy’s briefs, Jeremy lifting each foot daintily as he finally had them removed completely. Rich wadded them up, eyes locked on Jeremy’s, as he stuffed them into his pocket.

Jeremy’s lips twitched, though he couldn’t tell if it was amusement or disbelief.

Rich squeezed Jeremy’s thighs, pressing his thumb against one of the hickeys. Jeremy mewled softly, as Rich leaned in, breathing against his cock softly, panting as he gave his cock a small stroke, base to tip, tugging him towards his lips without actually making contact yet.

“Beautiful,” RIch said. “So fucking beautiful, Jeremy. Fuck.”

Jeremy glowed, a radiant bundle of nerves that Rich was determined to pluck and manipulate and please before the evening was over. He caressed him, finally leaning forward and, with his tongue flat, running his tongue over the tip of his cock. A long swipe, the taste of his precum salty and almost bitter, but a good sort of bitter. Rich drew his tongue back into his mouth, savoring the taste of him, as Jeremy twitched and whimpered.

His tongue found its way back against his skin, sliding down the underside of his cock, as he trailed his index finger over the top of it, snaking forward until he was near the circumsized tip. He squeezed the head of his cock, gentle, removing his hand only because he wanted to replace it with his mouth.

Jeremy filled his mouth, and Rich eyed him blissfully. Rich’s cheeks puffed as he took him in deeper, swallowing past the head. He inhaled him, mouth tight, lips curled, his tongue pulsing up against the underside with a pillowing softness. Rich scooted closer, pressing his hand against Jeremy’s hip, as he took him that much deeper into his mouth.

Jeremy moaned, head falling back, body squirming and legs shaking, as Rich sucked his cock. Rich found himself bottoming out, the tip of Jeremy’s cock resting snugly against the back of his throat. He hummed against him, and Jeremy’s hand pressed against his face. He pet his cheek, and Rich playfully puffed his cheek out against his hand in a more exaggerated manner.

Jeremy didn’t outright giggle. But he did smile, between his sighs and soft gasps.

Rich wanted to fuck him so badly. He wanted to see that pretty head against his pillowcase, wanted to watch him bite his lip or his knuckle, as though to silence himself, wanted to see him thrash and plead and take everything Rich had to offer.

Rich squeezed his legs together and focused on establishing a rhythm, curling his tongue around him as he drew back. He followed the pathway of the vein running along the underside of his cock, and found himself captivated by the feeling of his heartrate here, in this most intimate of places.

Rich could swear he could feel phantom pressure between his own legs, an almost empathic sense of someone blowing him, as he worked his mouth over Jeremy. 

The mark on Rich’s arm was hot, but it wasn’t an unpleasant hotness by any means. He began to bob his head over Jeremy, looking up at him with every suck, his lips stretched and bruising, as he submitted to having his mouth properly fucked.

Jeremy’s eyes closed, his expression pained and startled, as his body seemed to constrict inward. Rich could feel his cock throbbing against his tongue, as Jeremy thrust his hips forward. 

He came in his mouth, the feeling so abrupt that it left Rich tingling, his clit throbbing, neglected. He continued sucking on him, Jeremy gasping little overstimulated cries, but Rich wanted more, he wanted to taste every drop of him. He wanted nothing more than to live the rest of his days like this, nestled between his lover’s legs and taking everything he had. 

His mouth slowed, until finally settling around Jeremy, still. Gingerly, he drew back, scooping his tongue over him to be sure he didn’t miss any of his cum. Jeremy’s eyes were still closed, though his expression had gone from tight concentration to a serene sort of emptiness. 

Rich rubbed his mouth on the back of his hand, regarding Jeremy curiously. Jeremy’s eyes fluttered open, and he opened his mouth, though the only thing that came out was a small whine.

Too cute.

Rich knew he tasted of Jeremy, but he had to kiss him. He pulled himself up, hands on Jeremy’s shoulders, as he kissed him tenderly. 

And Jeremy kissed him back, as though unbothered by the taste of his own cum. Rich settled back into Jeremy’s lap, Jeremy’s fingers lightly moving up and down his back, finally moving down to settle against his ass again, an idle sort of possession.

Rich broke the kiss finally, laying against Jeremy’s chest, circling his finger over his heart. “I guess we could get dressed now, if you want-”

Jeremy grabbed him by his thighs, rotating against the couch and pushing Rich off, until he was on his back on the cushions. He stroked his hands up and down Rich’s sides, Rich looking up at him curiously. 

Jeremy opened his mouth, another small whimper leaving him. He seemed idly concerned, teeth touching against his lip.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” Rich said, soft, permissive.

Jeremy’s blush was so brilliant, and so extensive, that it was spilling down his neck. He looked at Rich like a Christmas tree, full of wonder and potential.

He just hoped that wherever this went, Jeremy wouldn’t end up disappointed.


	22. Chapter 22

Jeremy had poured hours of research into transgender issues and correcting misconceptions. Not because he needed to normalize Rich in his own mind, but for the fear of not being a good support. Of saying something stupid. Of being yet another hardship and obstacle for Rich to overcome.

But in all honesty, even the web had proved less than helpful. Or maybe it had been helpful, but overly heartbreaking. So many cases, of death and torment, of heartbreak and misery. 

All things that didn’t fit Rich.

Or, well, all things Jeremy didn’t want to fit Rich.

Jeremy considered it sometimes, though, in times like this, when he realized nervously that he had no idea what to do with Rich’s body.

All he knew for sure was that he wanted it. Wanted him. But where did he even begin? What would Rich even allow for him to see? To touch? What was off limits? What would make him uncomfortable? He wanted boundaries explicitily marked, flashing lights to tell him where to go, where to back away.

Rich looked up at him, lips still wet, eyes full of trust and affection. Jeremy tugged at his shirt questioningly, looking for uncertainty or discomfort on Rich’s face.

“You’re not going to break me, Queere.” Rich sat up, clasping Jeremy’s face and stealing a kiss. Jeremy’s pulse rattled eagerly.

Jeremy, not for the first time, tried to speak. To say something. Anything. Flirtations. Questions. Anything!

Words evaded him. His vocal chords felt too tight, too raw. He stared at Rich helplessly, trying to silently convey his dilemma.

“A little overwhelmed?” Rich stroked his cheek.

Jeremy nodded.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Another nod.

“Hopefully not literally, huh? It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Do you still want to do this?”

This time, an emphatic nod, rapid and fully certain. Because god did he want this. How many nights had he touched himself, dreaming of this very night?

“Cool. Take off my shirt.”

Rich lifted his arms as Jeremy eased the tank top over his head. Underneath, RIch wore what looked to be a spandex compression top, athletic material pressing down his chest. 

Rich shivered, voice smaller. “You can, um, take it off, too. If you wanna.”

Jeremy watched Rich’s face as he slipped his fingers into the tight spandex. He pulled it upward, and could feel his chest spring free once the fabric moved up high enough. Jeremy swallowed, taking it over Rich’s head, before he finally allowed himself to look.

Rich’s chest was scarred, pink and jagged and burned, The scars moved down his neck, onto the slope of his breasts in tattered patterns. Rich sucked in a breath, a small tremble pressing over him. And it occurred to Jeremy how exposed he must feel.

He wanted to reassure him. Tell him he was beautiful and strong and masculine and everything Jeremy could ever want and more. But words continued to dance out of reach.

“I know I’m not...that I…” rich seemed similarly vexed for words. He stared upward, nervously biting his lip.

Jeremy cupped one of his breasts, squeezing it softly. He leaned forward, kissing the upper swell of it, his thumb moving over his areola. 

The sound Rich made was startled, but not displeased. His legs twitched underneath Jeremy. Jeremy squeezed his breast again, taking the other into his other hand. He pressed his breasts together, mesmerized.

Rich laughed softly. “You like ‘em?”

Jeremy nodded.

“Glad somebody does. Fuck. Your hands feel good. Can you, like, play with my nipples a little?”

Jeremy touched them symmetrically, squeezing and twisting them. He tugged on them, experimenting,, delighting in the sensation of his skin. Rich moaned, leaning back against hte couch.

Jeremy realized his cock was resting against Rich’s thigh, and he felt it twitch, blood flooding down between his legs in a fresh wave of arousal. Rich smiled, looking at him through heavy eyelashes.

“You’re going to feel so good inside me.”

Jeremy burned under his words, under his gaze. He swallowed, toying with his breasts and looking over Rich longingly.

This was really his life. A cute boy underneath him, letting him play with his tits. And truly, Jeremy was far from a virgin, but this was a first for him.

Not least of all because he chose to be here.

“Babe,” Rich breathed. “Take off my pants.”

Oh! Jeremy smiled, slipping his hands down Rich’s body. He unzipped his pants, undoing the button after. He caught a glimpse of his checkerboard boxer-briefs, and his heart clattered almost painfully in anticipation of seeing more.

Jeremy jerked at his waistband, and Rich grunted as his body jostled around in the process. His clothes popped free, pants wrangled inside out, as Jeremy tossed them onto the ground.

“Damn. Forceful. I like it!”

Jeremy smiled sheepishly, as his hands fluttered over Rich’s thighs. Rich’s skin was soft, tanned, and Jeremy wondered if he sunned himself in the nude to avoid any tanline. He shivered at the image, pressing Rich’s legs apart to stroke his inner thighs.

“You’re doing so good,” Rich panted, squirming against the couch.

Jeremy looked over Rich’s body, noting the bulge in his underwear. He placed his hand over the front of his boxer-briefs, against the solidity. He gave it a squeeze, curious. It gave under his palm, plush and soft.

“Feeling up my sock-cock?” Rich laughed breathlessly, voice dipping into an exaggerated accent. “Oh behave.” He winked, and Jeremy giggled.

Sock. That was clever. He had to admit, he’d been curious, when they’d grind against each other, what that pressure was within his pants. Rich leaned up to kiss him once again.

Rich placed his hand ont he back of Jeremy’s, holding him in place against him. He could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and Jeremy’s cock throbbed in anticipation.

Rich’s eyes moved over him after hte kiss. “Fuck. You’re so pretty, Jeremy. Look at you. Fucking beautiful.”

Jeremy glowed, bowing his head shyly. Rich’s hands reached out, grasping his arm. His fingers traced his mark, caressing each detail. “And all mine.”

Jeremy’s skin felt like lightning, crackling and kinetic and vibrant, as Rich continued his light teasings. His fingernails brushed over his skin, and Jeremy shook from the sensation. He rolled his palm against his crotch. Rich sighed, circling his fingers over his mark.

“...I don’t think you’re gonna like what you...what you see, babe.”

It was such a ludicrous, hurt thing to say. Jeremy frowned, arching up to land kisses along Rich’s neck. Rich tilted his head back with a throaty groan. Jeremy nibbled on his collarbone, his chest resting against Rich’s. He could feel his breasts press against him with every breath.

Jeremy peppered kisses upward until their lips melted together once again.

Rich’s grip slipped on his arm. Jeremy drew it away, breaking the kiss as he slipped down Rich’s body, down between his thighs. He gripped his waistband, and Rich swallowed. Jeremy playfully kissed his stomach, which drew a laugh from Rich.

It was nice. Playful. Soft. Safe. Jeremy tried to speak again, but gurgled a helpless sound instead. Rich cupped his face, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone.

Jeremy steadied himself, peeling Rich’s underwear from his body. He felt them stick for a moment, clinging to Rich as though soaked to his skin. Finally, they came loose, the bundled up sock rolling free in the process. Jeremy drew them off, down to his knees, letting them bunch at his calves as he finally stole a glance.

Holy fuck.

Neatly trimmed hair left a landing strip on his mound, leading down to glistening pink lips. Hormone-engorged clit peeked out between his lips, and Jeremy felt dizzy. But it was a good sort of dizzy.

Rich watched him, as he kicked off his underwear. “I didn’t know what you liked, you know, pube-wise, so-”

Jeremy couldn’t help it. The absurdity of Rich showering, pondering how to style his pubic hair, was so outrageous, and so Rich, that he could do nothing but laugh. He tried to stop--he didn’t want Rich to think he was laughing at him--but he kept picturing him, trimming and shamppoing and fussing, trying to decide Jeremy’s crotch aesthetic.

Granted, it was also a pretty hot thing to think about, too. Jeremy ached, reaching out hesitantly, as his laughter tapered into slackjawed awe.

Rich’s hands moved between his own legs. His fingers nimbly touched himself, spreading himself open. He was so wet, and so pink, and Jeremy gawked at him, eyes so wide they were beginning to hurt.

“You wanna touch, dude?”

Jeremy inched closer, ghosting his finger over him, along the strip of tightly cut hair. It was soft, the skin underneath so warm and delicate. Jeremy slid his finger lower, until he was touching his clit. He stroked it, curious and enticed. Rich kept himself held open, moaning softly as Jeremy touched him.

Jeremy rubbed his clit, staring in wonder. He slipped his touch down, swiping over him fully, then riding back up to his clit after as though magnetized. The motion had wet his fingertip, gliding it over the sensitive bundle.

“Ohh,” Rich breathed. “Oh god, this...that feels so good, Jeremy.”

No nicknames. Only reverent sighs of his given name.

Jeremy had never found his name more erotic than in that moment.

Jeremy straddled Rich’s leg, leaning in and kissing his lower stomach. Rich sucked it in with a sharp breath, as Jeremy panted down his body. He touched his tongue against him, a teasing flick over his cunt.

“Wait,” Rich said. Jeremy froze, finally lifting his head in concern. “Wait. I...are you sure?” He bit his lip. “Like, it’d be awesome, but, uh…”

Jeremy smiled, and wrapped his lips around his clit. He rolled his tongue over it, lips loosely gripping, and he savored the throbbing taste of him, clean and wet.

“Oh my god,” He whispered it. His fingers released their open hold on himself. Jeremy nestled inward, keeping him open with chin and nose, buried into his cunt ravenously. Rich tangled wet fingertips into Jeremy’s hair.

Jeremy swallowed around him, like fresh fruit, his skin soaking with Rich’s arousal. He used his fingers, pressing between his lips, and pressed just slightly against him, circling around tight hole, as he lapped, flat tongued, at his clit.

“Oh my god!” This time, he shrieked it, tensing his fingers and writhing beneath Jeremy. “Fuck me, that feels...you’re just...fuck! Fuck!”

That had to be good, right? Jeremy kissed his clit, only to start sucking on it again. His free hand squeezed Rich’s hip, a steadying point in the midst of unsteady pleasure. Jeremy’s pulse was so rapid he worried he might burst, but it’d be the best way to go, all things considered.

Jeremy pressed his middle finger into Rich, curling the rest of his digits into his palm. He rotated it as he pressed, cautious, sinking it into tight, fluttering heat. Rich cried out as he entered him, a stunned little sound that crushed the breath from Jeremy’s lungs. He had to pull away, a gasp for oxygen, and a glance at Rich’s pretty pink face. His eyes were closed, lips parted and wet with drool. Rich opened his eyes, dazed, raising a hand to wipe at his mouth.

Jeremy coaxed his finger within him, beckoning and stroking, feeling every muscle and fiber of him from the inside. Rich rolled up against his hand, looking down for a few moment, before his head collapsed back against the couch again.

Jeremy drew his finger out, until just the tip remained in him. He leaned forward, sucking on his clit once again as he thrust his finger back in. He fingered him slowly, eagerly, delighting in every sensation, every taste, every touch. Finally, he drew his finger out completely, only to replace it with two, index and middle, pistoning within him in sync (just call him the Justin Timberlake of fingerblasting, the Lance Bass of pussylicking).

Rich’s body quivered and throbbed around Jeremy’s fingers. Jeremy ached, imagining how he’d feel around his cock. He continued the gentle pressure around him with his mouth, as he curled his fingers, pressing and prodding until Rich was nearly screaming.

God. The sounds he made were unreal. Jeremy’s hand was soaked, and Rich’s cunt was a furnace, absolutely radiating heat. Jeremy’s cock pressed firmly against his leg as he sucked and licked, as he fingered and stroked, as he lost himself in Rich’s body, his moans and sighs and the tandem sensation of pleasure that seemed to flood his own core. Was that a side effect of their soulmate bond? Had Rich felt the same when he’d gone down on Jeremy?

He couldn’t very well ask him now. But he tucked the thought, the questioning, the urge to test, away for later.

Rich rutted his hips against him, grinding his cunt against Jeremy’s face in desperate thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, right there, right THERE, don’t stop, oh god, Jeremy!”

Jeremy could have permanently strapped himself to Rich’s body if it meant getting his mouth fucked so satisfyingly all day every day. His precum was leaving sticky trails on Rich’s leg, and he tried to discretely grind against him. 

Rich didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was in too much bliss to care, or maybe he liked it, Jeremy thought hopefully. Maybe he was a freak just like Jeremy.

He sort of had to be, right? If they were soulmates, they had to be compatible in all ways. So why was his voice so locked up and nervous, when Rich was the one person Jeremy shouldn’t have been worried around?

He didn’t need his voice for this, though.

Rich grabbed the back of Jeremy’s head, pulling him down against him, and roughly grinding against his face. It was a suffocating sensation, or perhaps with the wetness drowning was a better word for it. Jeremy moaned against him, continuing to move his fingers. He felt Rich’s body clench down around him, almost as though to trap him in place, and Rich’s voice grew shrill and incomprehensible as his entire body seemed to pulse around him. Jeremy felt his face grow wetter, as Rich’s thighs squeezed against the side of his face.

And then, just as suddenly, Rich’s body went lax, thighs falling apart, hands limply pressed against his head, body heaving with heavy breaths.

Jeremy lifted his head up, blinking--even his eyelashes were wet--as he regarded Rich quietly.

Rich’s eyes were closed, and he licked his lips, making small, pleased sounds. His hands fell away from the back of Jeremy’s head.

“Wow.” He said.

Jeremy ran his tongue over his mouth, before he climbed up Rich’s body. His cock pressed against his stomach now, as he kissed him fully, open mouthed, tongue and teeth and longing and affection. Rich’s mouth was pliant and warm and submissive in his afterglow, his hands grasping Jeremy’s, the one still wet, fingers pruned. 

“Wow,” Rich said again once the kiss broke.

Jeremy brushed his nose against Rich’s. Rich grasped the back of his neck, holding him steady a moment. Both smiled, as Rich pressed his body upward, riding up against Jeremy’s cock.

“You wanna fuck me?”

Jeremy swallowed sharply, drawing back to look over Rich uncertainly. Rich’s voice was still ragged, perhaps from sucking Jeremy off, perhaps from moaning and crying so loudly, but it was raspy in a way that left Jeremy with a low dose of complete pride. But he didn’t want to push him too far. What if he needed to rest? What if he hurt him? What if-

 

“Queere. Come on. You want to fuck me, right?” Rich brushed kisses to his lips between sentences. “Because I want you to fuck me.”

Who could argue with that?

He nodded, and Rich giggled.

“Jesus. I even got your hair wet. What the hell kind of super soaker action did you unleash in me, dude?” He smoothed a tendril of his hair, shaking his hand to rid it of the moisture. Jeremy shifted himself around, until his legs were between Rich’s, Rich’s legs opening up for him. 

“I really love you, man.” Rich pet Jeremy’s cheek again. “And not just because you eat snatch like a competitive hot dog eater. Damn, dude.” His voice was still breathless, and Jeremy had to kiss along his jawline, to show his affection. He was just too cute.

And it hurt, to not be able to get the words out to say he loved him too. So he had to show him. Had to prove it. God, he didn’t want Rich to think he was doing anything wrong or that he was undesirable, just because Jeremy so often found himself going mute during these moments of intimacy--it was dangerous enough when it happened with clients, but he felt as though he had more to lose here. He actually cared what Rich thought of him after their clothes were back on, after all.

Rich grasped his cock, tugging him forward until the tip of him pressed against his wet cunt. Jeremy shivered, as Rich playfully rubbed the tip of him up and down over his slit. Jeremy grasped Rich’s hips, tugging him down until he was even closer to him, until his cock was pressing against the entrance of him. Rich blinked, looking at Jeremy wordlessly, releasing his hold on his cock to instead grasp his shoulders, his legs loosely wrapping around him.

Jeremy had imagined sex with his soulmate for so long, it was almost impossible to believe this could truly be happening.

But then it was. And he was pressing inside of him.

And it eclipsed and overpowered every fantasy he’d ever had. 

Jeremy stared, watching as Rich’s skin bulged and accommodated every inch as he moved inside him. He squeezed Rich’s hips, and Rich’s own fingers tensed around his shoulders. They exhaled in time with each other, Rich meeting his gaze.

Each movement felt more intimate and perfectly timed than the last. Jeremy forgot to be anxious and concerned, forgot to look questioningly to Rich for guidance. Because he didn’t need guidance. It was mapped out in their skin, in their bond, in every breath, Rich took everything Jeremy had with such grace and devotion that there wasn’t room for doubt of any brand.

Jeremy doubled over Rich, collecting his arms around him to pull him that much closer against him as he fucked him, Rich’s chest pressing to Jeremy’s. Jeremy pushed him back, just a little, just enough to grasp one of his breasts, giving his nipple a playful squeeze. Rich sighed, nuzzling his face against Jeremy’s neck and lightly biting him.

Rich rolled his hips when he wanted things harder, squeezed his legs when he needed him deeper, and all communicated wordlessly. Jeremy felt a camaraderie in it, two boys left wordless, save for Rich’s occasional sigh of ‘Jeremy’.

Rich felt so warm and his wetness lubricated every thrust. Jeremy was nearly choking on his own moans. His stomach bundled into knots, his pace growing more frantic. He reached down, stroking Rich’s clit. 

It was the right move. Rich didn’t last much longer. His legs wrapped snugly around Jeremy, pulling him flush against him, cock buried to the hilt. He came with a whimper, undulating against the couch, his fingernails digging into Jeremy’s skin. 

Jeremy was ravenous. THe sight of Rich after, satisfied, eyes half-lidded, left him animalistic. He grabbed Rich’s hips, thrusting sharply into him. He fucked him brutally, slamming him into the couch. Rich gasped his name, eyes closed as Jeremy doubled over him.

He spilled over into his own blinding climax, sobbing. He came inside Rich, body rotating and grinding and slowing its thrusts until he was sure he was done, and then falling lax against Rich’s chest, still inside him, as he struggled for breath. For words. To figure out which way was up and which was down.

Rich stroked his fingers through his hair, over his back, petting and rubbing against him silently for a few seconds.

“Wow,” He said, not for the first time. “Holy fuck.”

Jeremy nodded, nuzzling against his breasts. Rich kissed the top of his head.

“You want some french toast sticks?”

Jeremy glanced up, and Rich grinned, shrugging.

“I’m hungry.”

Jeremy tried to unstick his tongue, to offer a response, but instead he offered a small shrug.

Rich’s face softened. “Maybe in a little bit. Kinda like this, just holding you for awhile.”

Jeremy drew back, just enough to draw out his softening cock. Rich whimpered faintly at the sensation, and snuggled his arms around him once Jeremy was laying against his chest again.

“You’re a real sex machine, Queere. Maybe after french toast sticks, we can take a shower, and you can help me get allll those hard to reach places, huh?’

Jeremy’s heart fluttered. More. Rich wanted more. He’d had Jeremy already, but he still wanted more. He couldn’t help the smile on his face, or the delight in his chest, or the way blood was already beginning to chase down to his groin yet again.


	23. Chapter 23

Did it get better than being mated with Jeremy Heere?

Rich didn’t think so. He really fucking didn’t think so. Between the dates, and the sex, and the late night conversations, and the sex, he barely had time to catch up on Mulder and Scully but who fucking gave a shit about that anymore? Fictional escape was all well and good, and will-they-won’t-theys set in extraterrestrial rich mysteries were fine and dandy, but you know what else was fine and dandy?

Taking Jeremy’s dick up his ass.

And everywhere else.

Rich lounged in his chair, body still aching from their last session. Jeremy, unfortunately, wasn’t at his house. And though he loved the cats, they were a poor substitute.

He was beginning to think he might be a little addicted. Rich traced his fingers over his mark, silently tried to press between the distance to let Jeremy know he was thinking about him, that he missed him, that he would somehow, someway, find a way to protect him from-

Someone was knocking at his door.

Rich’s heart dropped, as the cats scattered around his trailer. His freshly decorated trailer at that--Jeremy had set up a few portraits, rearranged some things for better ‘flow’ and it had seemed like some hippie bullshit when he’d explained it, but Rich really did feel more at peace now and-

There was that knock again.

Fuck.

It was probably the landlord, Rich thought anxiously. Which was a double whammy of bad. Bad, because the cats were Strictly Outdoor Strays and the pet deposit alone would put Rich out on his ass. And two, Rich didn’t have this month’s rent.

Or last month’s, for that matter.

Rich nervously wrung his hands together, eyes moving around uneasily. Maybe he could sneak out the window. Or hide in the fridge--no, Jeremy had taken him shopping, for “real ingredients,” so the fridge was too full for once, even for Rich’s tiny body. Damn Jeremy! Damn Jeremy and his constant improvements on his life!

The knock came in more forceful. Rich steeled himself, taking heavy steps towards the door. He hoped perhaps the landlord would be so charmed by the welcome mat that Jeremy had chosen that he would have leniency on him.

Rich forced a smile, and opened the door.

“Wha...Michael??”

Michael. Jeremy’s friend. Outside of the living room of their shared home for once. It was weird--yes, he knew he ventured out, but Rich had never seen him anywhere but in Jeremy’s house. It was like seeing an extra from a sitcom show up in a court procedural drama. Sure, you knew that it was a real person, who had other gigs and obligations. But it still seemed jarring.

Plus, what was he doing here? Not so much how did he find it--obviously through Jeremy--but-

“Why are you here?”

Rich hadn’t meant to sound rude. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a step backwards.

“I need to talk to you.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all. Rich’s eyes moved around, between Michael and the outside world, and he once again ran his fingers through his hair. “Did something happen to Jeremy?” The weight of his own question hit him, and his chest clenched. “What happened to Jeremy? Is he okay? Where is he?”

“He’s,” Michael paused, his nose creasing in distaste. “Working.”

Why was he saying it like that?

...oh. Right. Jeremy had told him.

And they’d had that big fight.

And…

“Shit, are you two still-”

“We’re not fighting!” Michael said quickly, defensively. “We’re perfectly civil, for your information. Not that it’s any of your business. Because it’s not.”

Civil.

And Jeremy had been avoidant whenever the topic of Michael came up.

So they were still fighting. This many weeks later? Or perhaps it wasn’t so much a fight as it was careful avoidance, tiptoeing around the reality of their situation. It hardly seemed a big enough hurtle to Rich to make it worth the discomfort around someone you shared a room with, but he’d never had the kind of history with another person that Jeremy and Michael had.

“Fair enough.”

“...you know what he does? For work?”

Rich rubbed the back of his neck. “Um. Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Michael spoke with disgust, something bordering on loathing.

Rich sighed, taking another step back. He gestured inward. “You gonna come in or what?”

Michael paused a moment, finally taking a step over the threshold. His eyes briefly touched on one of the surrealist paintings on the wall. “...Jeremy loves that piece.”

“He picked it.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

They both kicked at the ground, avoiding eye contact for a moment. Before Rich grew bored of the meek passivity. He looked up, forcing eye contact with Michael with a sharp smile.

“So why are you here?”

Michael rubbed his arm, taking the first opportunity he had to look away from Rich. His gaze fluttered around, from TV stand to cats galore to the carpet itself. “...he whores himself.”

Rich didn’t wince at the words, didn’t allow himself to turn away from the words, from the truth of it. After all, he’d had some time to wrap his head around it. 

Not necessarily enjoy it. But wrap his head around it.

“Yeah? I know. So what?”

“So,” Michael laughed, looking at Rich incredulously. “So I don’t like it.”

“Well.” Rich shrugged. “Don’t know what-”

“We need to get jobs.”

Maybe there wasn’t an accusatory note to his words, but it certainly cut like one. “I’ve been try-”

“No, I know. I know you have. I...okay. I need to get a job. Even if...I mean, everything’s going to…” He trailed off, worrying his teeth into his lip, finally saying, “We only have a few months left, but I don’t want Jeremy spending those months, like, being degraded anymore.”

“Oh come on. He’s not...I mean, he has more in his life than what he does for money. He’s not being…” He trailed off. Because he’d couldn’t in good faith state that Jeremy wasn’t being degraded. Wasn’t being used and abused and downtrodden. His mouth closed and he considered it. Just how Jeremy spent his evenings, the types of people who took advantage of his desperation. 

Damn.

Maybe he didn’t have his head around it so well after all.

“I’ve been looking,” Rich said again. Softer this time. He took a seat on his couch, scooting over and absently patting the space next to him. Michael stepped closer, taking the seat next to him. Rich sighed, head falling back against the back cushions of the sofa. “For months. And it’s like, the more time goes by, the more I get asked ‘what’s with this gap in your employment’, you know? And...god, even McDonald’s wouldn’t hire me. What the fuck, right?”

“I think I have a solution.”

Rich left his head resting against the couch, but rolled his eyes to look at Michael. “We sell ourselves?”

“No one’s going to want to fuck us, Rich.”

“Wow.” Rich scowled. “Fuck you too, Michael. Personally I think we’re fucking treats. But aaaaparently Sir Michael The Douche thinks we’re past our prime.”

“I’m not a douche for being honest. We’re--okay, I’m not fuckable. Happier?”

“Marginally. It’s still bullshit, but at least I’m not being dragged into it anymore.”

Michael crossed his arms over his chest, tapping one foot, nervous energy coursing through him. “Don’t you want to know what my plan is?”

“Is it porn?”

“I just said it wasn’t-”

“You said it wasn’t prostitution. Porn’s different. I do anal now, so that’s a new market.”

“I...ew, wait, you two have--no, no, I don’t care, I don’t want to know!”

Rich grinned, his bubbling urge to spill everything floating to the surface. “Yeah, he had me bent over the table, he was giving me a massage with some sensual oils or whatever, and then, pop, thumb in my asshole. Just like that. It was-”

“I don’t want to know!”

“-Amazing! Don’t worry, I ate his ass aft-”

“Don’t care! I don’t care! Jesus, Rich, what is...why would I want to hear about my best friend’s sex life?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Have you seen him? Total meal, walking around in those tight pants. Damn, what a babe-”

“My boyfriend owns a restaurant!”

It was blurted so suddenly, abrupt and startling and glittering garishly between them. Rich’s words about anal adventures and sexual shenanigans burst within his mouth, as he tried to understand what the hell Michael was saying. 

And all he took from it was-

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Wow.” Michael drawled. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“It’s just, like, you’re so doom-and-gloom, I didn’t think you had time to--and Jeremy’s never mentioned-”

“Jeremy doesn’t know yet. Shit. Don’t tell Jeremy.” Michael held up his hands. “Not because I don’t want him to know, but I...let me tell him.”

“Yeah yeah, your love life is secure with me. So, uh, a restaurateur, huh?” Had he pronounced that right? Eh, he didn’t care enough to figure it out. “Cool.”

“Yeah, he’s…” Michael trailed off, smiling and lost in his own thoughts. He never bothered to come back to verbalizing what he was, but his entire aura glowed.

“He’s what?”

Michael giggled. Then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m going to be a server-”

“Wow, you’re going to be a terrible server, Michael. Just. Fucking terrible.”

Michael glared at him. “-and they need help in the kitchens, and I mentioned to him that you used to be a, uh, is frycook an offensive term?”

“It’s the name of the job, why would that be offensive?”

Michael didn’t bother to answer him. Rich was beginning to wonder if he just blocked out the frequency of his voice. “Anyway, he’d be willing to interview you, and since I vouched for you, he’ll almost definitely hire you.”

“Wait. Wait, again, you’re going to be an awful waiter, you have no patience-”

That wasn’t what he should have been focusing on. Rich knew it wasn’t the right thing to be focusing on. But it stood out so vibrantly. He couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t that he knew Michael that well, except that Jeremy spoke about him frequently, and he’d interacted with him in a limited capacity and their shared house. But he knew the service industry. 

Michael hardly struck him as the type to put up with bullshit for minimal tips.

Depression or not, apocalypse hoarding or not, Michael seemed to have more self respect than that. Or less patience than that. 

Right. The second thing.

“-and you’re going to work for your boyfriend? That’s kind of weird-”

“He just owns the place. I’d be working for the manager, really. It’s not that weird. And I...I don’t exactly have a great work history either, Rich.” Michael’s expression was pained for a moment, relaxing as he added, “So are you in?”

“In?”

“To interview.”

“Interview?”

Oh.

The third thing.

The thing he was actually supposed to focus on.

The actual meat of the conversation.

“...I,” Rich started. And then stopped. MIchael was here, offering him a job--even if it wasn’t quite a 100% guarantee, he was apparently pretty close to this owner guy, and he’d vouched for him...why the fuck had he vouched for him? “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Dude. You totally hate me!”

“No, I just...I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, but you still hate me.”

Michael turned away from him, arms poised in his lap, expression pained. “I just worry.”

“About Jeremy?”

“Yeah.”

Rich sighed. “I’m not going to hurt Jeremy.”

“I...yeah, I know that. That’s why I...look. We both want to help him, right? And...and yeah, okay, it’s Jeremy’s choice to do what he wants, if he really liked this work, I wouldn’t say anything-” Rich seriously doubted that, but he decided for once not to voice his protests. “-but he’s not happy. And…” He trailed off. His head dropped, voice tiny. “And I can’t take care of him by myself.”

“...do I get to wear a chef hat?”

Michael jerked his head towards Rich. “What?”

“This gig. Do I get to wear one of those big white chef hats?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“And do I get my own apron or do we have to share?”

“I don’t-”

“And what’s the situation with taking home leftovers at the end of the night?”

“Rich, I don’t fucking know. I just found out about--you’re joking.”

Rich laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I’m just fucking with you. Of course I’ll interview for it. I’d be stupid to turn that down, right?”

Michael’s face split into a wide smile, his hands clasping together excitedly. “You’ll really do it?”

Rich nodded.

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“This is amazing! We’re going to be,” he paused, smile slipping a little, “Coworkers.”

“Yeah, we’re going to get really close, aren’t we?” Rich smirked. “8 hours a day, where I can tell you all about the dirty things Jeremy and I-”

“Oh god, it’s not too late for me to tell Jake never mind, you definitely want a different job, right?”

For a moment, his frantic words almost sounded genuine. But Rich caught a slight tug of the corner of his lips, a sparkle of almost affection, and definite gratitude, in his eyes.

“Oooh, Jake? How rugged!”

“Shut up.”

“You’re going to be having a tumultuous affair with your boss-”

“The owner. Like I said, we’ll actually answer to the manag-”

“With the owner. Scandalous.” Rich grinned. “Is he cute?”

“I’m not going to-” Michael stopped himself, bowing his head and smiling sheepishly. “Yes.”

“I knew it. So...interview?”

“Oh, in twenty minutes. Well…” Michael trailed off, glancing at the clock on Rich’s stove. “Fifteen minutes, actually.”

Rich gawked at him. “Shit! I’m going to be late. I...hold up, let me throw something on. Fuck, how am I going to make a good impression if I’m...shit!” He flung himself out of the room, rummaging around through his closet in a desperate hope that he could find something interview-worthy on such a short notice.

“Relax,” Michael said casually. “You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” His voice shook a little, dipping into a lower, conspiratorial tone. “Because I’m fucking the owner.”


	24. Chapter 24

Jeremy had a limited capacity for anger towards Michael. Time, and being well loved, and being well fucked, wore him down, until the edges of the fight itself were murky and unclear.

Plus avoiding each other was near impossible in their home. Although Michael had been out more frequently, a surprising development that left Jeremy equal parts hopeful and terrified.

He tried so hard not to feed Michael’s delusions. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being safe, especially those days when he didn’t turn back up until after dark. Even in their silent treatment, Jeremy would assess him, look for any scrapes and bruises, any tears in his clothing, any signs of distress.

Michael seemed the opposite of distressed though. If anything, he seemed happy.

Maybe Jeremy had been holding him back all along.

The thought dropped the bottom out of his stomach. All this time, he’d thought he was helping Michael. But maybe he’d been hurting him. Enabling destructive behavior.

It wasn’t until he caught Michael in a pair of suspenders and a bow tie, glaring in the mirror, that he really decided to confront him. Of course, these things required delicacy.

“W-what the hell are you wearing?”

Michael jumped, spinning around. He wore purple denim shorts, digging at his thighs, his buttoned white shirt tucked in. The suspenders were polka dotted and hugged at his shoulders. His hat sat crookedly, the same shade of purple as his shorts.

He scowled, though his annoyance didn’t seem to be with Jeremy.

“If my manager asks me where my flair is, I’m going to burn the place to the ground.”

The reference made Jeremy smile. Michael had always liked Mike Judge. And had always hated uniforms.

Why, again, was he in a uniform?

“W-what-”

“Oh. Oh! Right.” Michael fidgeted with his suspenders. “Uh. New job.”

“Job?”

No. No, that was a terrible idea! Michael needed to heal. Needed to rest. Maybe he needed a therapist, if he really wanted to get out there. But putting him into the public would just cause frustration and hurt and fear and-

Was this Jeremy overstepping his boundaries again?

“Yeah. With my boyfriend.”

“B-boyfriend?”

Michael had said it so nonchalant. He faced the mirror again, brushing his fingers through his hair that was exposed from beneath the hat.

“Well,” Michael said. “My soulmate, I should say.”

His soulmate.

Soulmate.

Michael had found his-

Jeremy squealed, hardly aware of his own actions as he flung himself at Michael. His arms wrapped loosely around his neck, as Michael instinctively reached out, and cradled him. He held him in his arms, both laughing as they collapsed back onto the floor, Jeremy on top of Michael.

“T-tell me everything!”

Michael laughed, leaning back against the ground as Jeremy perched in his lap. “Oh, I don’t know. It might bore you-”

“Everything!” Jeremy squeezed his hands on either side of Michael’s face. “T-tell me!”

“Alright, alright!” Michael grasped Jeremy’s wrists, tugging his hands away from his face. “Well, his name is Jake. We met at the record store.”

“Wow. Gay.”

That was a very Rich response. Jeremy’s arm tingled pleasantly at the association. 

Michael rolled his eyes, but continued on. “He still wears his letterman’s jacket, which is super dorky, and he makes homemade pastries, and he keeps a journal, and he’s really really cute Jeremy oh my god!”

Jeremy could hear the swoon in Michael’s voice. He squeezed his face again, his cheeks flushed, and Michael giggled, swatting at his hands again.

“It’s so weird,” Michael said. “We’ve only known each other, like, a month.”

“But it feels like longer?”

“I mean, kinda? I never...never thought I’d have time, to meet him. Or that he’d actually like me back.” His voice dropped lower. “When we had sex, he told me I was beautiful. Me, Jeremy! Beautiful!”

“Well, you are--hey, wait! You, um, you two have already done it?” In just one month! Jeremy pouted. “Rich and I only barely star, um, started d-doing that.”

“Don’t remind me.”

It was an odd thing to say. They hadn’t been speaking. How would Michael be aware of that?

“Anyway, he owns a restaurant. And I’m going to be working there. Obviously I didn’t realize these were the uniforms when I agreed to the gig.” He tugged on the suspenders, snapping them against his body. “I look like Barney-meets-Urkel or something.”

“I th-think it’s kind of cute.” Jeremy pulled himself off of Michael, holding out a hand to help him up. “But you don’t have to-”

“I need to get out more, Jer. And...and I need to support us. Pull my weight.”

Jeremy shouldn’t have told him. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. Admitting his prostitution had been a dire mistake, not least of all because of their fight, but to know it was pressuring Michael in this new way….no, god, he shouldn’t have said anything at all. His mouth tasted dry, acidic, the horrible guilt of his confessions washing over him. “Michael-”

“And I need to save up more for doomsday, dude.”

Ah. So finding his soulmate hadn’t erased his prophesies and terrors.

“I can...c-can work more, Mi-”

“Nope. You can actually help me out by quitting.”

Jeremy hated himself for the small flurry of hope, of delight, at the prospect. No more pawing at his body, no more bad conversation, no more degrading aches in the morning from the night before, no more-

“No, M-Michael, I...we still need my income. I--that’s r-really nice of you, but I can’t just quit. We...if anything, we need two incomes.”

Michael was quiet a moment, and Jeremy braced himself. Were they about to launch into another fight?

“So if there were two people bringing in money, then you’d quit?”

“I...um. I g-guess, yes.”

Michael grinned. “Okay.”

And though Jeremy tried to press, to understand how Michael could just drop the topic, or what he seemed so cheery about, he couldn’t pry anything from him.

It wouldn’t be until after dinner that Jeremy would learn Michael’s scheme.

The knock on the door was obnoxious, a sharp clatter of foot smashing against the wood.

Jeremy jumped, glancing towards Michael.

“Michael raised an eyebrow. “Go answer it, dude.”

Jeremy frowned, shuffling over to the door. He eased it open.

A marmalade cat scampered in, leaping onto one of the beanbag chairs with a majestic show of ownership.

“O...Omelette?”

Jeremy stared in disbelief, before the clearing of a throat drew his attention back to the door.

Rich grinned sheepishly, clutching a box of possessions to his chest. “Hey, babe.” He shuffled the box, leaning in to catch his lips against Jeremy’s cheek. “Or should I say hey, roomie!”


	25. Chapter 25

Living with Jeremy was a whole new level.

A whole new sexy, thrilling, exciting, captivating world.

Jeremy hummed to himself as they stood side by side, Rich drying and Jeremy washing dishes. Distantly, Rich was aware of the TV, the sounds of MTV’s video rotation entertaining a half-asleep Michael. He bumped his hip against Jeremy’s, leaning up and biting his earlobe playfully.

“You’re not even humming the right song.”

“Huh?” Jeremy handed a dish over to Rich. Rich laughed.

“You’re not humming along to the song that’s playing.”

“There’s a song playing?” He was quiet, glancing towards the living room. “Oh. Right. He, uh, h-he plays so much, um, crap that I sorta tune it out.”

Rich set the plate down on the counter, snapping his towel at Jeremy’s hip. Jeremy jumped back, laughing and grabbing the faucet. He tugged the spray nozzle free, spraying Rich squarely in the face.

Judging by Jeremy’s face, stunned and a little horrified, he hadn’t meant to hit him straight on. Rich sputtered, water dribbling out of his mouth and from his nose, before he scooped a handful of soapy water from the sink and flung it at Jeremy.

The struggle ended with them both squealing and laughing, soaked through their clothes and slipping into a heap on the kitchen floor. 

“What the fuck?” Michael said, though he didn’t bother looking away from the TV. “Shut up, I’m watching this.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, then shoved Rich into a puddle on the ground. Rich grabbed Jeremy by his shirt, tugging him down on top of him.

“Think we made a bigger mess than when we started cleaning, Queere.”

“Y-yeah.” Jeremy’s cold, wet hands moved over Rich’s face. He held onto him as he leaned in, kissing him fiercely. Rich placed his hand on Jeremy’s ass, just because he could, as Jeremy nibbled on his lip, sucking and biting until his mouth was open.

Apparently their kissing was too loud, because Michael sighed, aggressively hitting the buttons on the remote to crank the volume up.

Jeremy held out his hand, blindly flipping Michael off in his general direction. Rich lifted his hand, taking Jeremy’s, and easing his middle finger back down, only to loop their fingers. 

“You kind of taste like soap,” Rich said when he broke away. “Like, dishsoap.”

“D-deal with it.”

“Wow. Attitude much?”

“I’m, uh, I’m the new, edgy Jeremy.”

“Whoa. Radical, man.”

“I kn-know.” Jeremy smacked their lips together again, a quick, playful little hit of mouth upon mouth, and Rich gave his ass a small swat.

“Okay, edgemaster general. Get your sweet ass off me, we should probably mop up before I go to work.”

Jeremy rolled off of Rich, and Rich hopped up, pulling both of them upright. They scrambled for a moment, slipping against the water. Jeremy kissed his neck, sucking on his skin slowly, casually.

“Maybe, um, m-maybe I can come visit you again today.”

“Like for my lunch break?”

“Y-yeah. Bring you, uh, something to eat.” Jeremy’s eyes moved around, before he leaned in, whispering into Rich’s ear. “Me. You, uh, you can eat me.”

Rich grinned, his heart beating rapidly at the prospect. “That’s like every part of the food pyramid that I care about right there.”

Jeremy kissed the shell of his ear, stroking his finger up and down Rich’s chest. “I’ll um. I’ll clean up the mess. You should go put on your suspenders.”

Rich’s face fell.

Right.

The uniform.

“I don’t get it,” Rich grumbled. “Fucking...I’m in the kitchen! We should have sick-ass chef uniforms or something. White. Crisp. Why the hell do I have to wear fucking suspenders?”

“It’s Jake’s vision.”

“It’s not even Jake’s idea! It’s that fucking manager he hired. I...fuck, Jake needs to seriously rethink some shit. I’m really going to talk to him and--what? I am!”

“You’re not.” Jeremy snickered. “You, u-um, you t-totally fawn over him whenever you see him.”

The problem was, he wasn’t altogether wrong. Rich did hit it off with Jake. Really hit it off with him. Maybe it was strange--Jake was tall, and wealthy, and really seemed to have his shit together, and Rich was...well, Rich.

At any rate, Rich really strove to make him laugh. To draw an impressed grin from him. He didn’t think it was because he was his boss--maybe back in the day Rich had tried to impress his superior, his directors, in whatever soul crushing ways they demanded, but he’d never tried to brown-nose his fast food bosses. Was it because he was MIchael’s soulmate, and he wanted an in with Jeremy’s best friend?

No. Because he and Michael were fine, actually. They shared a bedroom for fuck’s sakes, that was as close as close could get! He’d seen Rich’s tits--by mistake, mind you, and he’d screeched in annoyance at Rich and Jeremy to find somewhere more private.

There wasn’t enough privacy in their shared space, that was for sure. Which meant they had no choice but to at the very least be civil--between that and walking to work together, they really were starting to get to know each other. So no. The Jake comraderie wasn’t a side effect of trying to impress Michael.

“Dude. I don’t fawn over him.”

“A-a little. I think you, um, have a crush on him.”

Rich scoffed, grabbing Jeremy by the collar. “Okay, buddy. The mess can wait. Come shower with me, you punk.”

He thought maybe the shower might be his favorite part of their place. It was small, clean, and Jeremy looked so good under the water’s steady stream.

All in all, Rich wasn’t sure how to handle this feeling.

This happiness.

How was he actually so happy? How long had it been since he’d been so truly, consistently happy? Certainly not on the Captain’s Folly set. His childhood of bright lights and studio applause had left him exposed and exploited and raw. His father and his brother had depended on him, leaning into the money and acclaim, and leaving Rich with less than scraps, even in the wake of his mother’s death.

He didn’t want to think about that. Those weren’t memories that would serve him now. It was another life.

They disrobed, slipping into the shower together, and Rich still found himself hazily thinking about happiness, even as he ran his hands over Jeremy’s body.

He’d been happy at his film premieres, in fleeting moments at the very least. He’d hated hte gowns, and the red carpet questioning, had hated everything leading up to the screenings themselves. And watching himself on the silver screen had, admittedly, been an odd, disconnected feeling. Surely that wasn’t him, rosy cheeked and curvy and girlish giggle. He’d remembered one time, he’d gone with Moses. How tall and leather-jacketed and casually romantic he’d been, arm draped around Rich’s shoulders.

Spiderweb. That had been the film. A psychological drama. Rich’s character had been thoroughly brutalized throughout.

“You just suffer so pretty,” The director had commented.

Moses had seemed queasy after. Wrapping his arm around Rich and leading him back to his motorcycle, long dark hair whipping through the California breeze.

“It’s just a movie.”

“I know. You...you did so good, sunshine.”

And Rich had glowed, brilliantly delighted in those moments in Mo’s arms. He did good. Rich had done something right.

And that was why he’d been happy at premieres.

Plus the popcorn. The popcorn was nice.

So there was some happiness. And the entire relationship with Mo in itself had been joyous, if short lived.

Rich winced, rubbing Jeremy’s hip to try to steady himself.

Jeremy’s expression grew more melancholy. “Are y-you, um, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He looked up at him, mists of water clinging to his lashes. “I’ve just never been happy like this before. Everything is going right.”

Which meant inevitably it was all going to crash. Rich’s throat tangled and stuck. He let out a choked little wheeze.

Jeremy took his face between his hands. “Rich…”

“I just don’t want to ruin you.” Rich trembled so hard he nearly slipped. He pressed up against Jeremy, hand against his shoulder, and a frightened sob escaped him.

“You’re not g-going to.” One arm wrapped around Rich’s wet body, the other moving through his bleached hair. “You make...y-you make everything so much better.”

“I’m so scared you’re going to die, too.”

It surprised himself nearly as much as Jeremy. Rich felt another sob catch in his chest, as he clung to Jeremy’s body.

Why was this happening right now? They’d just had a beautiful, sweet moment. Nothing traumatic had happened. Why did Rich have to ruin everything?

“I...I’m not going anywhere.”

“I just...what if I do something stupid, and I hurt you? What if there’s another fire? What if I break your heart?”

“Rich, i-it’s okay.” Jeremy pulled them both to the floor of the tub. He tucked Rich into his lap, holding him close. “Whatever happens, we’ll, um, we’ll get through it. You’re...y-you’re not going to hurt me, though. I promise. I...i-it’s going to be okay.”

Jeremy shivered, and Rich nuzzled against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat timed perfectly with teh rush of the shower’s stream.

They stayed like that until Michael began to bang on the door.

“We’re going to be late for work! Stop boning for once!” Michael audibly huffed. “You know I hate being the responsible one, dude!”

Jeremy glanced at the shower curtain, towards the general direction of the door, his fingers weaving through his hair. “You could, um, c-could call off, if you need to. Jake would understand.”

Rich shook his head. His legs wobbled as he stood. “No. I’m okay.” He helped Jeremy up, softly kissing him once he was upright. “Are you still going to visit me on my break?”

“Yeah!” Jeremy bounced on his heels. He was so adorable, Rich could hardly stand it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

They kissed again, and Michael pounded on the door.

All in all, breakdowns notwithstanding, it really was the good life. Rich found himself settling into his job comfortably, learning the menu and the tricks from the older line cooks. They took him in, nights spent with innuendos and bitching about the uniforms. Occasionally, he’d catch Michael outside during a smoke break, and they’d bum cigarettes off each other.

“I just served the biggest idiot in the world,” he’d inevitably say, and launch into the sort of rant that left Rich’s lungs burning with laughter.

And before he knew it, September had faded into October. The leaves crunched underfoot as they trekked to the restaurant everyday, moving forward with their employment and their lives.


	26. Chapter 26

“Guess it’s time for me to haunt your ass. Ooooooooooooh spoooooooooky!” Rich’s palm sharply smacked Jeremy’s ass, and though he knew he should have been either amused or annoyed by his words, the action drew a keening moan from Jeremy.

“O-okay,” He said, his voice already starting to drift out. Shit. Again?? Would he ever be verbal during sex? What was this supposed to mean? Discomfort? Nerves? Anxiety?

God bless Rich for being so accommodating and understanding.

And double God bless the strap on they’d picked up at the sex shop the next town over.

It had been quite the adventure, honestly. They’d borrowed Jake’s mustang, Jeremy tucking into the passenger’s seat, Rich sitting much further back from the steering wheel than his tiny body should have been allowed.

They’d tried driving with teh top down, but an early snowfall and the general October chill quickly ended that folly. Rich had shaken snowflakes from his hair, red stripe freshly dyed back into place, and they turned up the radio, blaring and bellowing Radiohead through every mile.

The shop itself had been tiny, bordering on cramped. They’d held hands, Jeremy nervously glancing at the cashier to see if they’d be judged or evicted for their ‘deviant’ lifestyle.

The cashier had smiled, offering her heavily-tattooed assistance, and Jeremy had blushed, burying his face into Rich’s shoulder.

“We’re fine,” Rich had chirped, leading Jeremy towards the vibrators. “Thanks!”

It was a dangerous venture, going to a sex store on Rich’s payday weekend. They looked over plugs and bullets, lubes and whips. Rich threw toys easily into their basket, for rainy day weekends, for romps when Michael was away at his soulmate’s estate.

The strapons themselves had captivated Rich immediately. He’d gawked at them, from purple and playful to veiny and hyperrealistic. Jeremy had wrapped his arms around Rich from behind, resting his chin atop his head.

“A-are you thinking of getting one?” His fingertips had steepled against Rich’s chest.

“Yeah,” Rich sighed. “I wanna fuck you like a real man.”

Jeremy’s lips had pressed against him, his own chest aching. “S-shut up, you already do.” He’d squeezed him close. “But, um, I’d love to take your cock.”

And so now he was.

Jeremy knelt on the mattress, sweat dripping from his forehead. Rich had thoroughly prepared him, taking his time fingering and teasing. His lips had left a flurry of love bites and hickeys over Jeremy’s spine, blossoming down to his ass. The lube left him wet, cock throbbing. He curled his fingers against the bed to resist the urge to touch himself.

“Gorgeous,” Rich panted. He leaned up against him, and the silicone of his synthetic cock brushed over the cleft of Jeremy’s ass. They’d chosen it together, a mix of aesthetic and practicality, just realistic enough that Rich had been unable to stop looking at his reflection in wonder after putting it on, running his hand over every inch with quivering palm. 

Jeremy almost wanted to change positions, if only to see Rich again. Because it had been quite the sight. If anyone here was gorgeous, it was him. His chest fluttered happily, and his stomach coiled in tight, burning arousal as Rich rolled his cock against him once again.

Rich slipped his hand around, squeezing Jeremy’s dick, his thumb rubbing against precum slick tip. “Is this ectoplasm?”

More Halloween comments. Jeremy scoffed, dropping down onto his elbows, his ass wriggling back playfully against the strap-on. Rich leaned against him, his bare chest against Jeremy’s back, and the sense of being nearly enveloped by Rich was enticing, thrilling, safe.

Jeremy opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything. 

Nothing.

So he let himself rest his cheek against the mattress and submit to his own lack of verbalization, and Rich’s total domination.

Rich wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, a snug fit, as he tugged Jeremy backwards, until his body was pressed flush against him. He rutted his cock over him, lubricated silicone moving over Jeremy’s plush flesh with a sense of purpose and ownership. Jeremy squeaked softly. 

The change in position was nice--in truth, Rich had dominated him, and dominated him often, since they’d gotten together. He’d fingerfucked Jeremy numerous times, sometimes just idly thrusting his fingers into him during otherwise mundane activities, as if he just needed to be inside of his lover. He’d straddled him and bitten him and spanked him and ridden him and choked him and...Jeremy got red in the face and lightheaded in the most pleasant of ways just thinking about it.

But this was a different sort of ownership. They hadn’t done much with toys anyway, given Jeremy’s supply had such associations with, well, past employment (it still felt gross, to think of it that way, rather than as failed relationships).

Now they had a fresh supply to get through.

And Rich had such a new swagger to his posture, with this new addition to their bedroom habits. 

Rich released Jeremy’s cock, and Jeremy sighed softly, eyelashes fluttering, as Rich steadied his own and began to grind it against him, rimming it around him with precise control. His body fluttered, as Rich began to ease just the tip of synthetic flesh into him.

“You’re mine,” Rich said, rough and possessive and low. The baritone notes of his voice in these moments made Jeremy’s skin prickle, his very bones tingling, every nerve ending drawn to attention and devotion. “Mine.”

Rich didn’t press himself forward.

Instead, he grabbed Jeremy by his hips, and pulled him back. Forced him back onto his hardness, inch by inch sliding into Jeremy’s ass. 

Jeremy’s eyes widened, mouth yawning open in a silent moan as Rich rolled his hips, angling himself to slip that much deeper into him. Fuck. Fuck, this felt amazing. Jeremy closed his eyes, blocking out the sense of sight to better focus on smell--sweat and fabric softener, Jeremy had just changed the sheets before they’d decided to play around--and taste--they’d shared a cupcake before this, the frosting still glossing sweet on the roof of his mouth--and sound--Rich’s breath was ragged, and Jeremy’s heartbeat was muffling his ears--and touch.

God.

Touch itself deserved its own 18 song soundtrack.

Rich’s hands were rough, flecked with minor fresh burns from the grill, and old scars from his past. His fingernails were trimmed, but left crescent marks in Jeremy’s skin. His thumbs would twitch against him occasionally, rubbing circles against his hips, mapping out the softness to his edges. His hands were firm and sure and safe and Jeremy would have stacked the entirety of his life on those hands.

And the feeling of being fucked, of opening up and being so deeply filled, made Jeremy’s closed eyes roll back into his skull. His mouth watered, and he moaned pitifully, too aroused to feel any shame at his own desperation.

“My little cockslut. You like how my dick feels in you, whore?” Rich pressed the boundaries, and Jeremy shivered. Yes. Yes, he was Rich’s little slut. His cocksleeve. His bitch in heat. He was whatever Rich wanted him to be, whatever he needed him to be, and fuck, fuck, FUCK Jeremy needed this.

Rich thrust sharply forward, pulling back on Jeremy’s body, until he bottomed out within him. Jeremy was hyperaware of every inch within him, how thoroughly he filled him, and he drooled against his own bed in his desperate longing.

Rich pressed his hand against the back of Jeremy’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. He tugged back, until Jeremy’s body bowed, stomach pressed against the bed, but ass and head raised upward. Rich pressed his chest against Jeremy’s back as he leaned over him, teasing his tongue over the outer shell of his ear. 

Jeremy’s pulse battered around his sternum and he struggled to catch his breath. 

Rich bit his ear, tugging on the earlobe between his teeth, before laughing huskily. “You’re a needy little bitch. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take anymore.”

Jeremy swallowed. Rich slipped a hand against his stomach, sliding it lower until it was ghosting over his cock.

“And then,” He purred, “then I’m going to fuck you some more.”

The idea of being so overstimulated, used and used past capacity, sent shockwaves straight down between his legs. Rich grasped his cock, drawing his own back with that same slow, steady pace. As if to make Jeremy memorize every sensation. He squeezed him and Jeremy bit the blankets so neatly draped over the bed. 

Rich peeled himself off of his position on Jeremy’s back, moving his other hand from Jeremy’s hip to spank him, once, as he began to thrust into him. Jeremy was sure it was just to watch the way his ass jiggled, but honestly he couldn’t be bothered by intentions right now. It just felt good. It felt good, in that stingy degrading way, and Jeremy’s eyes opened, but he couldn’t see anything distinct through the haze of colors and shapes and blinding delight. 

Rich alternated between grabbing his hip and spanking him as he moved within him, thrusting in slow, but intense motions, penetrating Jeremy so fully that he thought perhaps he’d never really been fucked before. Maybe he’d imagined all the other times, and this was the only thing his body knew, the only thing his body had been made to accept. He gasped and sucked on the blankets, leaving wet spots with his saliva, and wet spots with his precum which came so easily with every stroke and grip.

Rich’s pace picked up, seemingly timed with Jeremy’s needs. And when he found Jeremy’s prostate, thrust against it as though honed in, Jeremy nearly sang his rapture, crying a symphony of adulation. Rich peppered kisses to the back of his neck, and doubled his efforts, rapid slams of cock within tight, needy body.

And god, did Rich ever take. He was demanding, grabbing Jeremy’s hips and raising them to meet his thrusts, between abusing his poor cock with every effortless stroke. Jeremy rolled against the bed, thrashing and whining, as Rich controlled him with equal parts greed and finesse. 

Jeremy’s world went scarlet as he came within Rich’s hand, rutting himself animalistically into his touch as he panted and mewled. His eyes had closed again, face nuzzling against the bed, and for a moment Rich was still, half inside him.

Before he began to move again, thrusting forward sharply. Jeremy’s body ached, and he whimpered softly, peeking open his eyes and looking back at him.

“I told you,” Rich said. “I’m taking everything I can from you. I want more than one pathetic orgasm, slut.”

Jeremy licked his lips, eyes shining and unfocused. And though he couldn’t speak, he managed a small nod. Consent given despite Rich not asking for it, at least verbally. Rich smirked, taking it in and increasing the intensity of his thrusts.

All in all, it beat trick or treating, Jeremy had to admit.


	27. Chapter 27

It was somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas that Rich first voiced it.

“What if Michael’s right?”

Jeremy, swollen with holiday leftovers and nearly asleep, rolled over in their shared bed. They had to press in close, the smallness of Rich’s body not enough to fully disguised the tininess of the mattress itself. “Huh?”

“What if he’s right?”

“About you being a d-dork?” Jeremy wrapped his arms around Rich, pulling him flush against him and tangling their legs together, partly out of affection, but Rich also knew it was mostly so neither of them fell out of the bed. “He is right. M...Michael’s, um, Michael’s a very astute sc-scholar about this sort of stuff.”

“No, not that.” Rich rested his lips against Jeremy’s forehead. Jeremy, who was so soft and warm and felt like home. Jeremy, who laughed so breathlessly at his jokes and spoke with such passion that he may as well have been the director’s commentary on their movie dates. Jeremy, who still seemed so uncomfortable having Michael and Rich covering the bills and seemed to kick domestic housekeeping up to 11 to try to compensate, as if he hadn’t been bearing the weight of responsibility for so long on his own.

Jeremy. Who Rich didn’t want to see burn up in this apocalypse or any other. But if Michael was right, if they were about to go up in missiles and smoke, or rioters and rampages, or military takeovers and court ordered executions to restore order to a broken world, what chance did someone so soft and frail have of surviving? What chance did someone fragmented like Rich have of protecting him? And maybe Michael had planned, was spending his paychecks wiping out the supplies of their local grocery stores, but surely seven months of toilet paper and antiseptic ointment could only help so much. 

Spam could only sustain a group for so long.

It wasn’t that he necessarily bought into any of it. But the constant amateur radio broadcasts, the public access experts, the paranoid rantings of Michael on their lunch breaks...it was all beginning to wiggle into Rich’s mind.

Especially on nights like this, where everything had gone right, and they were content with turkey sandwiches, leftovers smuggled home from both the Heere household and Jake’s work party the day before. Everything was so happy now.

How easily it would be, for everything to stop being so happy. To stop going so well. Rich snuggled Jeremy into his arms, and tried to remember what it felt like to sleep alone.

He didn’t want to remember that. He didn’t want to have to relearn that. It was a small comfort, he supposed, to know that in all likelihood, if Jeremy did die, Rich would follow suit, given the intensity of their bond, their marks denoting their own expiration dates in terms of their lifespans together.

“What if this y2k shit really happens?”

“N-not you too.” Jeremy sighed. He didn’t pull away, though he did wriggle a little, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Rich in the dark of the room. The glow stars on the ceiling casted a light over both boys, and Rich was struck by how lovely Jeremy looked, his complexion and pouted lips. He couldn’t help himself, stroking his cheek, and earning a smile for the action. “R-Rich, nothing...th-these end of the world predictions never happen.”

“Until they do.”

“You could, um, could say that about anything. There’s...i-it’s stupid, to think that the world is going to, um, to end, just because the clocks reset to 1900 or wh-whatever.”

“I think it’s more complicated than that.” He was sure Michael had said more than that, had babbled about the logistics and the terror of it all. The dire threat of having depended so hard on technology, and how now computers would be their undoing.

Something like that.

“It’s just...M-Michael’s just paranoid. Every, um, everyone is just paranoid. Y-you can’t...c-can’t get all caught up in this. It’ll just freak you out for no good reason.”

“Maybe.” Rich leaned back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Jeremy crawled onto his chest, his lips pressing against his throat. Rich shivered, as Jeremy’s lips moved over his skin.

“I j-just don’t think...I-I mean, it’s almost Christmas. We should, uh, should be stressing about whether or not to get a real or fake tree-”

“Oh, a real tree definitely, Queere. That’s the only way to do it.” He paused, his fingers petting Jeremy’s back. “And shouldn’t we be celebrating Hanukkah instead?”

Jeremy shrugged. “W-we always celebrated both.”

“Nice! Christmas and Jewish Christmas. It’s like 8 nights, right?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, and um, th-the food is pretty, um, good-”

“And the top thingy?”

“D-dreidel? Yeah, that’s a thing.”

“I like things.”

Jeremy slipped his hand under Rich’s shirt. “I like things too.” His fingers pressed against his breast, and Rich sucked in a sharp breath as he pinched his nipple.

“Damn, yeah you do.”

Jeremy leaned in, lips quirked into a smile as they kissed, slow and sensual, as Jeremy pushed Rich’s shirt up over his chest, letting it bunch up around his shoulders. He pawed at his breasts, and Rich’s heart raced eagerly, as Jeremy slipped his tongue into his mouth.

The room was empty save for them, Michael having taken the night to spend with Jake. The house was quiet without the Nintendo or the radio on, save for the wet smacking of their lips. Jeremy broke their kiss, looking at Rich with so much fondness that Rich nearly melted straight to the floor.

“Y-you really think I’m going, um, going to let the world end, when I f-finally have my hands on you?”

“I don’t think you have much say in it one way or the other,” Rich said, reaching around to squeeze Jeremy’s ass. 

“Th-that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Um. I’m, uh, I’m very powerful.”

Jeremy rolled his hips against Rich’s, his clothed cock rubbing against Rich with a sense of possession and belonging. Rich’s head fell back with a long sigh, as Jeremy dripped down his chest, taking his nipple between his lips.

They’d fuck slowly that night, Jeremy thrusting Rich into the mattress in even, deep spurts. Jeremy’s voice would eventually fade out, as it so often did, so caught up in his arousal, perhaps, or perhaps it was an anxiety response. 

They’d talked about it after, once, Rich cradling Jeremy and Jeremy apologizing.

“It’s just...i-it’s overwhelming,” He’d said, playing with the ends of Rich’s fingertips. “I d-don’t know why I...I just sh-shut down.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rich had kissed his temple. “As long as you come back, that’s what matters.”

And come back he always did. Usually in the afterglow, held close and softly whispering a line of gratitude. Like Rich had done some great service by accepting him into his arms and into their bed.

Whatever the case, the topic would drop that night, fading into their orgasms and shared kisses. 

Rich would try not to think about it again. Because truth be told, he thought Jeremy was right. The likelihood of the world ending seemed low. If the world was really ending, surely more legitimate news sources would be covering it-

“No,” Michael shook his head, as Rich sat across from him at a booth. “Of course it’s not being covered more. You think the government wants mass hysteria?”

Rich stole a fry from their shared plate, trailing it through a line of ketchup. “I dunno man. I think if anything we should be more worried about Yellowstone-”

“Yellowstone?” Michael scoffed. “Fucking Yellowstone? What are you, a child?”

“It’s a supervolcano, Mikey. That’s serious shit!”

“Supervolcano.” Michael wrinkled his nose, stuffing a fry into his mouth with a sharp crunch of disgust. “I don’t need your made up words here when we’re talking about real devastating shit, Rich. Can you keep on topic?”

Rich grinned. He took off his work hat, running his fingers through his hair and laughing a little. “Sorry, sorry, we’re talking about serious stuff. Computer diseases.”

“The code is faulty even according to your skeptical supposed ‘experts’, Rich. We’re on a balance beam here and the cable is about to snap. And it’s a little too late now. It’s December. We have less than a month. And you’re only just now worried about this?”

“I didn’t say I’m worried about it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re friends with me, because I have enough supplies to get us through until June, if we’re really conservative--which, ew, you know how I hate to be conservative.”

Rich listened to Michael babble on, but he was struck by the first part of his sentence. And as Michael began speaking about rationing, he couldn’t resist cutting in. “We’re friends?”

MIchael’s mouth remained open, having been in the midst of his opus, and he shook his head just slightly to catch his barings. “What?”

“We’re...you called us friends.”

Michael’s forehead creased. “Well, yeah, dude. You think I’d let anyone I’m not friends with date Jeremy?”

Friends. Michael Mell considered them friends.

So he didn’t hate Rich. He didn’t resent him. He didn’t think he was a leach on their system or their likelihood for survival--or maybe he did. Maybe he did think all of those things still, but the teeter totter of fate was balanced in his favor, because all of that was outweighed by the fact that Michael thought they were friends.

He grabbed a handful of fries, stuffing them into his mouth cheerfully. “Nice, dude!” His words were muffled with his chewing.

Michael looked at him oddly. “You really are weird, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your weird friend, so that’s all that matters to me! Dude, this means you have to get me a Christmas present. No take backs.”

“Are you two planning on getting back to work any time soon?” Trisha, one of the waitresses, skated up to their table. Rich glanced at them jealously, as Michael began to lace up his own skates halfheartedly. It wasn’t fair. He had to wear the rest of the uniform, but apparently skating in the greasy kitchen was dangerous. 

“Only one month left of this degrading shit, at least,” Michael muttered. 

Right. Because the end of the world would mean no more working. Rich felt another pang of worry. THis was just stacking up more things that he’d be losing. His boyfriend. His new friends. His job which, outside of being unable to skate in the kitchen, he was really beginning to like.

Damn.

They’d need to think of something big to offset this whole apocalyspe thing, because for once Rich wasn’t in the mood for dying


	28. Chapter 28

“A party?”

Michael stared at Rich as though he were some degree of parasite, some lowly scum that he needed to scrape from his shoe. Instinctively, Jeremy moved towards his boyfriend, grasping his arm and looking at Michael uneasily.

Still, there was a part of him that agreed--not with the scum protocol, but about what a strange notion it was.

“W-we’re not exactly, um, party people, Rich.”

“No, no, not like a real party,” Rich backtracked. “I’m not talking about like some Hollywood premiere or something.”

It just struck Jeremy there that Rich had actually been to Hollywood premieres. How much about his life before did he not know? What had that been like, growing up around celebrities and debauchery? He rubbed Rich’s arm, fingers against his mark, and Rich smiled at him, kissing his cheek.

“I guess I should say more of a get together. Like, us and Jake. Man, you almost never have Jake over here.”

“H-he’s too classy for us.”

Michael frowned. “Jake isn’t-”

“Not Jake. Y-you.”

"Me??" Michael looked at Jeremy in shock. "What's that supposed to mean."

"W-well, you're just all hoity, um, toity now."

"I am not!"

"You got the, um, the taste for the finer things in life-"

"He means Jake's taint," Rich said casually, giving a little nod as he patted Jeremy's ass. Jeremy smiled despite himself, even as he swatted Rich's hand away. He needed to focus on teasing Michael, and on deconstructing Rich's odd requests, not on playing literal grab ass.

"R-right. On Jake's taint. Um. You got a taste and now, um, now you're too good for basement, uh, soirees."

Michael huffed, taking an abrupt seat in his bean bag chair. He spread his arms around, gesturing towards the small space, lined on all walls with mounting supplies for inevitable doom.

Not inevitable, Jeremy quickly corrected. They weren't in the midst of any sort of disaster. Michael was just paranoid. He couldn't wait until New Years came and went, and they could finally pack away this years worth of terror and maybe get a grip on their lives.

Not that it had been such a bad year, he thought, as he looked over at Rich with a bubbling sense of fondness. He reached over, taking his hand.

"Where exactly are we supposed to entertain in here, Jeremy? Huh? THis isn't exactly...we can't have a party on the eve of the end of civilization! I can't believe we're talking about the logistics of the size of the house."

"Well," Rich said slowly. "Wouldn't you rather Jake be here?"

Michael paused, dropping his hands from their spread position. "Of course I would. When everything happens...god, yes, of course he needs to be here, he doesn't have a backup generator at his house or fresh water stocked or anything. He absolutely needs to be here."

"Exactly." Rich spoke gently. Jeremy watched him, his tone weaving tapestries. "He needs to be here anyway. So what's the harm of having a few drinks-"

"We need to stay sober. The marauders will come before you know it, and we need to have our wits about us to trade with them."

"We'll bararade everything, Mikey. Just like you're always saying. And the alcohol will help, uh..." He looked at Jeremy.

Jeremy shrugged. "B-beats me. I just, uh, just wanna get trashed with my f-favorite people and, um, listen to the Backstreet Boys."

Michael glared at Jeremy. "I'm not listening to fucking boy bands as the world goes to shit, Jeremy. Are you fucking shitting me right now?"

"Nu metal then."

"Absolutely not."

"You can pick the soundtrack," Rich said cheerfully. He grabbed Jeremy by both hands, spinning him around cheerfully. "And we'll put up streamers. And get some balloons."

"We're not having a party!"

"And Jake can bake a cake-"

"A-and he can, um, he can put 'Happy Apocalypse' on it!" Jeremy giggled, looping his arms around Rich's neck. Rich rested his hands on his hips, leaning in and stealing a kiss.

"No cake! Cake is a perishable, we need non-perishables!"

"With candles!"

"We're not wasting candles on a cake. We'll need those when the power grid inevitably goes down."

"Michael," Jeremy rested his head against Rich's forehead. "M-Michael, come on, if...if everything really is going to fuck up anyway, we're...we'll die anyway, let's be realistic."

"You don't know that," Michael spoke so softly that Jeremy's smile fell from his face. He drew himself away from Rich, as Michael stared down at the ground. Michael's expression was strained, and Jeremy realized all too quickly that he was struggling not to cry.

Jeremy's heart dropped, and he moved over to him, kneeling before him. "Hey," He took his hand. "Michael, h-hey, come on."

"You don't know that." His voice cracked, as he looked up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "We might...w-we have...I've been preparing for over a year, Jer. A year. We have the supplies, we know all the worst case scenarios, we're....I'm prepared. I can protect you."

"Mi-"

"Us. I can protect us. I couldn't...I know I let you down a lot this year, I know I did. I know I wasn't always there for you, but," Michael pushed up his glasses, fingers aggressively pinching at the bridge of his nose as he struggled not to sob. "I can keep us alive. I will. I can protect us this time. Nothing is going to hurt m--hurt us, ever again. We can survive this."

Jeremy scooted closer to Michael, until he was sitting on the chair beside him. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders, resting his head against him. "I know," He said, and tried to push as much tenderness and affection into his voice as he could. "I know. We're going to be okay, Michael."

"We are."

Jeremy glanced over at Rich, who nodded slightly, eyes wide and uncertain, as he backed out of the room, carefully closing himself into the bedroom. It wasn't that he thought Rich would make things worse, but it had been awhile, since Michael and Jeremy had been alone. 

And Michael needed this. Jeremy was sure of it.

Michael dropped his hand from his face, a small sob tearing from him.

"December came so fast," He blubbered. "I thought I'd be ready for this. But I'm so...I'm so scared, Jer."

"I know."

"How are you not scared? How can you be so calm about this?"

"I..." Jeremy trailed off, rubbing Michael's shoulder. "I just think a distraction mi-might be best for us, um, right now. That's all. If...i-if you're right, and...um, if midnight comes a-and everything crashes around us...I just w-want to be with you, and with Rich, and I want y-you to have Jake, and I just...I d-don't want us to be afraid or thinking about e-everything we missed out on, you know?"

Michael turned towards Jeremy, eyes flickering around his face. He smiled, a shaky, uncertain little gesture, tears glistening in his eyes. "You really think Jake will bake an apocalypse cake for us?"

Jeremy laughed, leaning in against Michael and squeezing his arms around him. "I think for you, Jake would open an e-entire apocalypse bakery."

Michael managed a small giggle, his voice fracturing off into small, plaintive sobs. He cried against Jeremy's shoulder, Jeremy holding him close until the sobs gave way to little whimpers, and the whimpers tapered into gasps for breath. He held him until Michael eventually drew back, rubbing his eyes on the back of his arm and patting his hand against Jeremy's kneecap.

"Okay, fine. We'll have one last hurrah. But I'm picking the music."

"W-we already agreed to that."

"And you two are going to spend the rest of this week taking my evacuation and emergency drills seriously."

Jeremy sighed. Michael had started that the month before, a series of drills and tasks that had to be completed on a moment's notice. Rich had made it worse by buying Michael a whistle, perhaps under hte assumtion that he wouldn't actually use it.

He'd assumed wrong. Michael wore the whistle around his neck permanently, and would blow it in random intervals, barking out commands and hypothetical scenarios, quizzing them on survival preparedness. Fires. Raids. Fallout. Every little dire task that he could think of.

It was thoroughly exhausting, though Rich and Jeremy had laughed about it.

If taking it seriously was what was necessary, though--if it would make Michael feel a little more secure, a little safer...

"Fine," Jeremy agreed. "But s-stop, uh, stop using it as a way to cockblock."

"I don't!"

"Oh y-yes you do. You, like, c-can smell when we're having a, um, romantic moment."

"It's just a coincidence. You two are always fooling around."

"That's not true! And what about you and Jake?"

"We do that at Jake's house. It's different."

"Prudes."

Michael's face flushed. "I promise you, we're not. You'd be, like, totally impressed with the stuff we do."

"Like?"

"Really freaky stuff, Jer, okay? Like that. And," He picked up the whistle, blowing it sharply. "Government officials are demanding access! How do we disarm them without losing our rations-"

"O-oh come on, Michael, we're having a conversa-"

"Too slow, they're taking everything and now they're recruiting you into the militia to combat the enemy hordes-"

"Michael, n-no one is going to recruit--ugh." He'd promised he'd take it seriously. He sighed, getting up, moving himself into the 'attack position' Michael had instructed him on. "I a-approach the c-commanding officer and s-strike upward like-"

Michael grabbed Jeremy's wrist, twisting it around and throwing him back down onto the plush chair. Jeremy sputtered, as Michael sat on his back. He gasped, squirming and wriggling as Michael pinned his arm.

"Too slow-"

"M-Michael, get off!"

"Now what do you do?"

"Hot." Rich must have gotten bored of giving them their privacy, or perhaps he'd been beckoned by the familiar whistle. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning at the scene before him. "You wanna know what I'D do?"

Michael got off of Jeremy, glaring at him. "Something stupid, probably."

"Yeah, probably, but can I sit on Jeremy now? I prefer sitting on his face though, personally."

"O-oh my god." Jeremy covered his face in his hands, rolling onto his back on the chair. He laughed as Michael grasped him by the forearm, pulling him upright. "I l-love you guys. Idiots."

"At least we weren't taken prisoner," Michael said, voice calmer, teasing even. Maybe he'd lighten up a little more, if he was willing to make jokes about- "But we really should run through some fire drills, while we're all up and ready. Especially if this party is going to have, ugh, candles."


	29. Chapter 29

Streamers transformed the basement apartment from clumsy apocalypse headquarters to...clumsy apocalypse headquarters with streamers. In truth, it wasn’t a very drastic transformation by any means.

But the punch bowl was a nice touch. Rich glanced around, before dumping a shot of vodka into the mix.

“Rich, y-you know everyone, um, saw that, right?” Jeremy asked, standing over by the CD player with Michael. 

Rich glanced between all parties, Jake looking amused, Michael looking mildly bored (aside from twitching glances to his wrist), and then Jeremy...god. Jeremy was just cute. Wearing a tie and a cardigan and looking all party-ready and cute and did Rich mention cute? Fuck he was cute. Rich poured another shot into the punch, distractedly staring as he freely poured the bottle past the point he intended.

“Rich, w-we already...i-it’s already alcoholic punch.”

“Yeah, I know.” He said dreamily. “You look like fuckin...like...come here.”

“Wow. He has such a way with words,” Michael drawled. He turned up the volume on the CD player, before he walked over to Jake. “You want to, um...I mean, uh...some party, right? Totally dumb.” Michael’s toe scuffed the ground, as Jeremy moved closer to Rich.

Jeremy leaned in, taking the bottle from Rich’s hand and kissing the corner of his mouth at the same time. “He wants to dance with Jake,” He mumbled against him. “B-but don’t-”

“Yo, Jakey D! Ask your boyfriend to dance, you scrub!”

Michael’s eyes widened drastically, as Jake shot Rich a thumbs up, before he carefully hooked his hands into Michael’s. It was a faster song, though they seemed to find their rhythm easily.

Jeremy nudged Rich’s hip with his own. “Aren’t you going to get me some punch?”

“Get it yourself, loser.”

“H-hey.” He pinched Rich’s side. 

“Wow. Abuse isn’t a laughing matter. Fine.” He ladled out a glass of obnoxiously red liquid, holding it out for Jeremy. “You don’t think Michael’s, like, Jim Jonesing us tonight or anything, right?”

“You mixed it, dipshit!” Michael said, while not missing a beat as Jake spun him. “If anyone’s poisoning us, it’s you.”

“Oh yeah.” Rich glanced around, leaning in, “That’s just like Jim Jones would say though.”

“Or the, um, Heaven’s gate guy.” Jeremy’s eyes sparkled in amusement as he sipped from his cup.

“Yeah. Whatever happened to that guy?”

“I heard he lived a, um, l-long happy life.”

“Seriously?”

“No, he k-killed himself, you dweeb.”

“Wow, this party is totally not morbid at all.”

“You brought up the cults, y-you know.”

“Well.” Rich guided Jeremy’s glass away from his lips, just to take his mouth with his own. He tasted like cake and punch and probably countless other finger foods and appetizers, but those were the main flavors he was getting from him. He rested his hand against his ass, pressing against it to force his body up against Rich’s. “I mean,” He broke apart. “They’re like living on a comet or something though, so who’s the real winner here?”

“N-Nike.” Jeremy said plainly. “They, uh, th-they got the ultimate sponsorship d-deal. With, uh, with them all wearing black sneakers when they, uh, kicked it.” He grinned. “Kicked it? Get it? Shoes?”

Rich snorted, squeezing Jeremy’s ass. He probably shouldn’t have been groping him right there, in the same room with his two friends, one of which was his boss. But his hand knew what it wanted. Or something. He was a little bit tipsy already. “Leave it to Queere to bring up the footwear of a bunch of suicidal eunuchs. Real fucked up. Not funny. Not fucking funny.” Except he was giggling, which lead to Jeremy giggling, which lead to them pressing against the table and nearly knocking over the punch.

“God, drunkies, keep it together over there,” Michael said, as he rubbed his body up against Jake’s. It was a very fluid, feline movement, and Rich had to admire the way Jeremy seemed transfixed by the motion, idly fascinated and impressed.

“Mikey’s totally gonna give Jake a beanbag handie,” Rich said.

Jeremy took another drink, nodding in agreement. “Y-yeah, definitely. If not a footie.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Footjob.” He nodded a little to himself. “Michael, uh, Michael p-probably has some weird, like, kinks I don’t know about.”

“Foot fetishes aren’t that-”

“Uncommon, I know. B-but it’s funny because it’s Michael.”

“He should titty fuck him.”

“Y-you should titty fuck me.”

“Oh my god,” Michael pulled away from Jake, though his hands lingered against his hips even as Michael began to move towards Jeremy and Rich. “Jake doesn’t want to hear-”

“It’s okay,” Jake pulled on Michael’s belt loops, until he swiveled back into his grip. “They’re funny.”

“But-”

“And it’s not like we haven’t, you know…” He trailed off, a bashful, flirtatious grin on his face.

“Titty fucked,” Jeremy whispered to Rich. “I kn-knew it.”

Rich stifled the urge to laugh once again.

“That’s not true,” He murmured back. “They could be talking about the foot stuff.”

“I know you’re whispering about us,” Michael said, as Jake nuzzled against his neck. “And...and it’s super uncool.” His voice grew huskier, as Jake kissed his neck. Jake wrapped his arms around his waist, and Michael was leaning in such a way that it was clear that his weight was nearly all being supported by the taller boy. 

The clock read 9:17. Rich knew he shouldn’t have been watching it so intensely, or at all. Especially at a party, where time should have been flying.

Time was flying. That was the problem.

Something uncomfortable and terrified swam within his stomach. His smile slipped, and he knew Jeremy was whispering something hilarious, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

“Huh?”

“Th-they’re really cute, don’t you think?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Rich smiled, and tugged Jeremy up against him. “We’re cuter, but they’re decent I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy slipped easily into their rhythm. Michael had chosen the right music.

That was how their evening had been going so far. Dancing and banter and eating--they’d played cards, briefly, before Rich had gotten bored and begun inserting his own rules into the mix. Jake’s laughing had only encouraged it into absolute anarchy.

And the clock just ticked forward through every exploit. The TV was on, the NYC New Years Extravaganza. It beat the local channels, and it was still the right time zone for themselves. It had been muted, though occasionally Rich would find himself glancing over, watching the countdown in the corner of the screen, seeing the newscasters soundlessly mouth along to the teleprompter.

He’d usually catch Michael looking too. Their eyes would meet, and Michael would grimace uneasily, before going back to flirting with Jake, or bickering with Jeremy.

Jeremy slipped his hand into Rich’s backpocket, probably, much like Rich, just for the excuse to touch his butt. He kissed along his jawline, smiling fondly at him.

“I’m r-really glad we met.”

“Yeah,” Rich dipped him, just to hear the way Jeremy’s breath hitched in excited surprise. He lifted him back up. “Me too.”

“...god I can’t believe we have less than three hours left.” Rich wasn’t sure if Michael’s words were a response to Jeremy’s or his, or if they were a separate thought. Whatever hte case, he was staring at the TV, Jake’s lips still moving over his neck, his hand under his shirt and pressed to his stomach.

Jake paused, lifting his head from Michael’s neck and following his gaze. His expression looked skeptical, but unsurprised. He must have been used to Michael’s fearmongering--and indeed, Rich knew that to be true just from this evening.

Michael had promised not to harp on and on about the Millenium Bug, but he’d been unable to help a few quips here and there. Usually countered by a casual disagreement from Jake, a “that’s been disproven actually,” or “that’s highly unlikely”. 

Rich kept waiting for MIchael to get angry at the arguments. But Michael, in his fearful mania, didn’t even seem to process them.

“Why would the end of the world center on Eastern Standard Time, anyway?” 

“Wall Street,” Michael said vaguely.

“Midnight has already hit in Europe, that’s all I’m saying. You’d think they’d be going haywire now if your predictions were true.”

Michael shook his head. “Yeah, well...Wall Street. The stock market. You know.”

“I don’t know. Because it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well.” Michael turned his eyes away from the TV. “Well, you’ll see at midnight, I guess.” He smiled, a sad, pained little expression, as he took Jake’s hand. “We should have some more cake. Oh, do you guys want any cake?”

“I w-want to eat something else.” Jeremy teased, and Rich dragged his thoughts away from Michael’s doom and gloom to take in Jeremy’s flirtatious glances. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna go fuck in the bedroom, cool?”

“Oh my god!” Michael said. “Is that all you can think about right now?”

“H-he’s just kidding,” Jeremy said. “But, um, but we did need to grab something out of the, um, room. I need to show Rich, uh, something.”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s okay,” Jake slid his hand around Michael’s hip. “I need to show MIchael something too.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you do,” Rich grinned, as Jeremy took his hand and pulled him into the bedroom. The door closed with a click behind them, Jeremy leaning back against it as he smiled at Rich. “So what’d you need to show me?” Rich said with mock innocence.

Jeremy beckoned with his index finger. “C-come here and, um, and I’ll show you.”

Rich placed his hands on either side of Jeremy’s head, resting his palms against the door as he pressed himself forward. Jeremy kept his body pressed back, but leaned his head forward, taking Rich’s lips with his own. The kiss was warm, tinged in alcohol and frosting, and Rich curled his fingers instinctively against the wood of the door.

Jeremy brushed his tongue over Rich’s, his hands pressing against Rich’s hips. He squeezed them, tugging him forward until he was rutting his crotch against his. Rich gasped against Jeremy’s mouth, pulling back with a flutter of his eyelashes and a lick of his lips.

“So this was what you wanted to show me, huh?”

“Part of, um, like, part of it.” Jeremy moved his hands from Rich’s hips, instead grasping his own shirt, at first fiddling with the tie and sliding it off. The cardigan fell right after, leaving him in a soft white shirt. Rich’s arms continued to frame his body as he shimmied, slipping his top off and dropping it to the ground. He leaned forward, kissing Rich softly, his hand pressed delicately against his cheek. “Can you go sit on the bed? A-and, um, and I’ll show you the rest?”

Rich stepped backwards, eyes still fixed on Jeremy as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He grinned, as Jeremy swayed his hips, moving forward. He unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper as he stepped closer, closer. He stood before Rich, placing his hands on his shoulders. Rich looked up, Jeremy kissing him once more.

“W-watch me.” He murmured, as he drew back. His blue eyes peered into Rich’s, and Rich could hardly bring himself to look away, but he had to watch as his dropped his jeans. Jeremy let them fall past his knees, stepping out of them and kicking them away.

“T...touch me, Rich. Please?”

Jeremy’s voice was soft, shy, but sure. Steady. And Rich delighted in the fact he hadn’t fallen into nonverbal moans just yet--though he truly loved the cadence of his moans, it was nice to hear him ask for his desires, to speak about his needs.

He reached out, cradling his hips at first, before his hands slipped around, giving his ass a small squeeze. He tugged the waistband of his briefs down, just in the back, just enough to caress his skin, the perfect curve of his ass. He patted it, too soft to really be considered a spank, and Jeremy sighed softly, a satisfied little sound.

One hand still rubbing his ass, Rich’s other reached around to the front of him. He traced the shape of his cock through his briefs, fondling and squeezing him.

Rich looked up at Jeremy’s face, flushed and biting his lip. Jeremy’s lashes fluttered, meeting Rich’s gaze, and he smiled.

“F-feels, um, feels really good.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy slipped his thumbs into his briefs, tugging them down inch by inch. His cock sprang free, and Rich stared at it, his mouth instinctively watering. He wrapped his fingers around him, tugging his cock forward and pulling Jeremy nearer. 

Jeremy wriggled his thighs, letting his underwear drop to his ankles. He moved out of them, taking a seat on Rich’s knee. Rich strummed his thumb over his cock, rubbing the tip, and feeling him harden.

Jeremy swiveled around, until he was straddling him. He squeezed his thighs against Rich’s hips, grasping his shoulders, as he rolled his cock over Rich’s clothed body. “I-if,” He paused, and Rich leaned in to kiss his neck. “If this r-really...if this is really our last night…”

Rich froze against him. Their last night. This could be the turning point, an end of everything, or the tipping point to the end. They might lose everything here, including each other.

The fact that Jeremy was acknowledging it made his stomach clench painfully, and he painted kisses to his neck.

“I just...I j-just want you to know, I...this was the best y-year of my life.”

Rich brushed his hand down Jeremy’s back. He stroked his spine, felt every prominent bump. The dimensions of Jeremy’s body were perfect right down to the framework of his bones. He didn’t want to think about it being destroyed, about everything being destroyed.

But the images danced before him all the same.

“Mine too,” Rich said, throat dry.

“And I...a-all I want to do, is spend one last...last night with you, if this...i-if it really is the end.”

“Me too.”

Jeremy took Rich’s arm. He turned it over, trailing his fingers over his mark. “I-I just...I love you. So much.”

“I love you too.”

“Forever. E-even if forever is, um, over tonight. I still mean that.”

Rich pulled Jeremy up against him, falling back onto his back in the same moment. He needed to lay with him, to kiss and hold him close to his chest.

He offered no protests as Jeremy began to pull off his clothes. He lifted his arms, shirt and undergarment stripped away, and shivered as Jeremy traced his scars with the same care and admiration that he’d traced his mark.

“I j-just think you’re so b-beautiful, Rich. I don’t...I-I’m sorry I never told you that more.”

Rich cradled the back of Jeremy’s head as he drew him in for another kiss. “Shh,” He insisted. “You say it all the time. If anything, I don’t tell you enough.”

“O-oh please, you’re constantly going on about it! I j-just...do I make you feel loved? Y-you know how much I want you, right?”

“Babe. I know you’re nuts for me. You’re, like, a total freak for my body.”

“I am.” Jeremy insisted. “You’re, um, y-you’re so...I r-really like you, a lot.”

“Cheesy as fuck.”

“I’m not taking it back.”

“Dork.”

“M-maybe.” Jeremy smiled that sheepish smile he had, and Rich’s insides liquified in a rush. Jeremy’s hands dropped and he undid Rich’s belt. He slipped his pants down, lifting his own hips to disrobe Rich properly.

“Do you think Mikey’s getting it on with Jake?”

“I h-hope so.” Jeremy cupped his hand over Rich’s crotch, and Rich was all too aware of the heat of his own body, radiating up against Jeremy’s touch. “It’s not fair.” He said, so soft that Rich almost wasn’t certain he’d heard him right.

And when he did, his heart began to sink despite himself. What wasn’t fair? All the ways he lacked? All that Jeremy was missing out on, by being with him? Logically he knew that couldn’t be the case--Jeremy had just called him beautiful, had spoken to him with such reverence and respect and adoration. But if they were going to die, if the countdown to midnight really was their demise, wouldn’t it stand to reason that now would be the time to be honest?

Jeremy’s eyes misted over, and Rich forgot his own paranoias in a rush of panic for Jeremy.

“Babe-”

“W-we just got to know each other.” His voice warbled and fat tears began to slide down his cheeks. “We j-just fell in love, finally f-found each other, and now...n-now the world’s going to end and I d-don’t…”

Rich sat up, as Jeremy placed his hands over his face.

“I-I know I...I-I kept saying this wasn’t going to happen, but what if it does? W-what if it does? Wh-what if we’re all about to d-die? Rich...R-Rich, I’m...it’s too soon!”

Rich should have told him it wasn’t going to happen. That everything as going to be okay. But his own brain shimmered in cheap booze and paranoia, and he felt his own cheeks growing wet, even as he smiled. He stroked his thumb over Jeremy’s cheek, drying one of his eyes, as he rested his other hand against Jeremy’s arm, directly over his mark.

“I’ll be here with you. No matter what happens, I’ll be here, with you.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise. Forever.”

Jeremy sniffled, turning his face down to catch Rich’s thumb with his lips. He kissed it softly, and both were still for a moment.

And even as Jeremy began to move, as he pulled off Rich’s underwear and slid himself between his thighs, the stillness of the moment seemed to transcend. He kissed Rich, holding his body close as he moved into him with a little sigh. 

“I l-love you,” Jeremy breathed, easily, often.

Rich arched into the bed, as Jeremy moved within him. Each thrust drew another new sound from him, a surprised cry, a whimper. He kept finding his touch straying, moving over Jeremy’s mark. He swore, tonight more than any other, he could feel Jeremy’s pleasure mix with his own, could feel his breaths as though they were his own, could recreate his pulse and his euphoric need. 

He felt so connected, and as Jeremy murmured another sigh of Rich’s name, it struck Rich as ironic, that tonight it was Rich who found himself short on words, as Jeremy’s lips moved freely.

When they came, Jeremy trembled within him. His tears wet Rich’s face, or perhaps they were Rich’s own, and their lips melded together so well that Rich lost their edges, forgot which parts were his own and which were Jeremy’s. He grasped at his hands, locked their fingers, both shuddering and unwinding in their afterglow.

“S-sucks,” Jeremy said.

And Rich laughed. Sucks. Jeremy was saying that it sucked--and he was sure he didn’t mean the sex, because he could feel it, he knew he could. He could feel that Jeremy had wanted it, had needed it, had been completely enraptured with it. But the statement still made him laugh, a cathartic release even as tears continued to bubble from his eyes.

“What?”

“I-I can finally talk while we, um, while we fu--make love and the entire world is g-going to fucking blow up in an hour.”

Rich grinned, grinding his hips playfully up against Jeremy, Jeremy’s softening cock still within him. Jeremy gasped, blush arching down his neck, his overstimulated body giving a small shiver. “Weeell, any last words you wanna say while you’re inside me?”

“U-um, I think I might be able to think of, uh, something.” He grabbed Rich’s wrists, pinning them up against his head as he kissed him, fierce and possessive and his, all his. His. Whether they had 50 minutes or 50 years.


	30. Chapter 30

"We can probably see the fireworks from here, if we sit outside."

Michael looked at Jake as though he were completely insane. The effect was only enhanced by Michael's messy hair, sticking up, his glasses crooked. Jake chuckled softly, reaching over and adjusting them.

Jeremy tried to keep focused on their scene. On the intimacy with which they sat together. Jake rested his hand against Michael's knee whenever they were still, and occasionally Michael would rub his hand up and down Jake's arm, as though playing with the hairs on the back of it. It was such an unconscious action, and it made Jeremy's chest feel light, happy.

He'd always hoped Michael could meet somebody. He wondered if Jake helped quiet his mind, if he made everything still and clear. If he brought a sense of balance and clarity to his life.

He glanced over at Rich, and not for the first time he caught him looking at the clock.

11:45 pm.

The music had been turned down, the television turned onto the cheery New Years coverage. The footage would change, from country to country, showing various celebrations globally for the new year, the new millennium.

Jake would occasionally point out what a comfort this was. A "See? Everything is fine."

"You'll see," Michael would just reply morosely. His face had grown more ashen as the minutes ticked by, his fingers more anxiously rubbing over Jake's arm. 

Still, Jake had asked about fireworks. The town had planned on putting on a fireworks display, as it did every year. Jeremy had forgotten about it. It seemed a morbid prospect now, he thought, given how likely--

Not that it was likely, he tried to tell himself. He'd been so easily cynical before. Why was it so hard to reclaim that now?

He glanced at Rich again, and this time Rich tore his eyes away from the clock, and smiled at Jeremy. Rich's hair was similar to Michael's, at least in terms of being messy and disorganized. Jeremy smiled, reaching out to smooth it down. He stroked over the red streak in his hair.

"I-I don't know," Jeremy said. "Fireworks are...they're overrated."

He still remembered the fourth, after all. And how Rich had shook, and confided in him. His traumas and fears. His scars. How lucky was Jeremy, for Rich to trust him so fully, to give himself so completely to him.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the fireworks," Rich countered. He grinned. "I mean, it's a good backdrop, right? For a new year's kiss?"

Jeremy felt his pulse pick up. He blushed, voice dropping. "I-I've never had a new years kiss."

"Get out. Seriously?"

"Y-yeah. I, uh, m-most years I just, uh...w-well it's usually just me and Michael, and um-"

"And you two never macked on each other?"

"No."

"That's not quite true," Michael spoke up. Jeremy glanced over him, equal parts surprised that he was acknowledging the conversation, and that he was able to focus on something other than the folly of their lives in these final moments. He smiled. "Sophomore year of high school."

"Th-that doesn't count, w-we were practicing for a play!"

"Speak for yourself. You really think I cared that much about a class presentation of Romeo and Juliet?"

Jeremy's face glowed, and he dared not glance over at Rich. "Seriously?"

"Hey, opportunity knocked." Michael said cockily, though his tone quickly shifted, as his head dropped. "That, uh, makes me sound like a creep, though, doesn't it?"

"No. I...h-huh. N-next you'll say you walked in on me jerking off on purpose."

Michael looked up, wrinkling his nose. "That was an accident! It's not my fault you can't keep it in your pants."

"I-it's not my fault you can't knock!"

Rich and Jake both laughed, and Jeremy squeezed Rich's hand affectionately. And made the mistake of looking towards the clock again.

11:50 pm.

Fuck.

There was so much that Jeremy didn't know, he realized. So much he didn't know about Michael, for one. He'd never known those kisses were genuine--or maybe he had known. Maybe that was the truth of it. He had known, but hadn't been ready to confront those truths. Or he'd been too young to fully assess them. Or...god, they had ten minutes. Ten minutes, and he couldn't figure this out, he couldn't figure anything out.

There was so much he didn't know. About Michael. About Jake. Jake, who seemed like such a kind person, who contradicted Michael's paranoias with a smile. Who seemed the most at ease out of all of them now, despite him having the least experience of any of them in this particular home. Was he just the sort to seem comfortable anywhere? Did he like being here, or was he resentful that he couldn't have Michael to himself? What drew him to running a restaurant? What sorts of things did he keep in his journal? 

Did he know immediately that he was in love with Michael? Because surely he must have. MIchael was so lovable. He was so lovable, and so sweet, and he deserved this so much. He deserved a kind, loyal, comfortable presence in his life, one who fucked his brains out and rubbed his leg casually after their clothes were back on and they awaited the apocalypse.

How fucked it was, that Michael was going to lose all of that, despite having prepared so effortlessly. And how foolish of Jeremy, not to believe him until the very last moment. 

11:52 pm.

There was still so much he didn't know about Rich most of all.

He surveyed his silhouette and thought back to his baby pictures he'd shown him. Bows in his hair and a carefree smile on his face. That smile had faded so quickly as the pictures picked up in age. Why had no one seen how sad he'd been? WHy hadn't anyone stepped in and helped him? He'd been on TV, surely someone must have seen, must have known. Why had no one protected him?

Why couldn't Jeremy go back in time and protect him? He wrapped himself around his arm and hugged him, resting his cheek against his shoulder. There was so much pain that he held inside him, that Jeremy hadn't yet learned, and why hadn't he dug deeper? He should have helped drain it from him, helped shoulder more of it.

"I guess fireworks could be fun," Michael said. "We should, uh, take the radio out with us though. Listen to the countdown."

Jeremy could hardly believe that Michael would agree to it. Didn't he want to stay inside? To barricade the doors? That had been his plan before. What had changed?

Jake stood first, helping Michael up, then collecting the portable radio with his other hand. Jeremy looked to Rich again, searched for any uncertainty, any anxiety.

His expression remained relaxed. He stood up, drawing Jeremy up with him. "You don't get to kiss Mikey," He chided playfully, pecking his lips. "You're my new years kiss, got it?"

"G-got it."

They trekked outside, the cool air making the grass crunch under their feet. Sure enough, the sparkle of fireworks had already begun to glisten in the sky. Jake ran back inside, coming back a few moments later with a blanket. He fanned it out onto the ground, then revealed that he'd brought his jacket as well. He pulled it onto Michael's body, before easing them both down to sit. Michael smiled, though his attention quickly moved from the lights in the sky to the radio, fiddling the dial until new years coverage began to play again, songs and announcers and the reminder of the current time.

11:56 pm.

The fireworks dazzled, Rich occasionally jerking nervously up against Jeremy. He laughed, bowing his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry. Just startled me, I guess."

"No, it's okay. It's...d-do you want to go inside?"

"No." Rich weaved his fingers into Jeremy's. "I want to see this." He opened his mouth as though to say something else, but his lips quickly shut again. He strummed his thumb over hte back of Jeremy's hand. "I just want to see this."

Was it a need to conquer his fear, before he had no more chances left?

Was it a need to experience a last moment of euphoria before everything dissolved around them?

Was it just selfless kindness, not wanting to ruin the moment for the other three?

Jeremy pulled Rich up against him, their breath leaving fog in the darkness as they stared up towards the sky. Conversation had dwindled between both couples, as the swell of a pop song narrated the blast of each rush of color and brightness.

Michael sniffled, and Jeremy looked over at him in alarm. Jake murmured to him, his voice drowned out by the music. Michael looked at him, eyes full of fear and uncertainty, but he nodded. His own response was equally silenced, and Jeremy realized it was likely not so much the music as it was Jeremy's own pulse which was muffling his hearing.

It wasn't his business anyway. It wasn't his place. He looked away, the song fading as the time was chimed out once more.

11:59 pm.

Rich sat up from his position against Jeremy, though he never broke full contact with him, his hands splaying over Jeremy's. He moved around, his back facing the fireworks, his eyes full and wet as he looked at Jeremy. "Hey." He smiled at him. "Hey, just...just look at me for a second, Jeremy, okay?"

"Y-you're kind of blocking my view, I don't have a, um, choice," He hoped it sounded gentle. Rich's lips quirked up in amusement and Jeremy felt the pit in his stomach fill just a little, the tightness in his chest grow just slightly looser.

"I love you."

"I l-love you too-"

"And now," The radio crackled, "The ball is about to drop in Times Square. It's time to countdown to the new year! Ten!"

"No matter what happens-"

"Nine!"

"-I'll see you on the other side, okay?"

"Eight!"

Jeremy's head felt light, and his stomach felt queasy. He nodded.

"Seven!"

"Y-yeah. I'll...th-the other side."

"Six!"

"And you still-"

"Five!"

"-owe me that kiss."

"Four!"

Jeremy scooted closer, his hands looping around Rich's neck. Rich sat up on his knees, cradling Jeremy's face between his hands. And for that moment, Jeremy could believe that nothing could ever feel so safe. Like Rich could contain the entirety of this moment within his hands, and make it last forever.

"Three!"

"I l-love you so much."

"Two!"

Rich's mouth breathed a halo of condensation around them. The fireworks crackled and popped behind him, as Jeremy clutched at him. His arm burned, his mark throbbing and aching with the need for closeness, proximity, safety. They kissed, their lungs burning as Jeremy waited for the rest of the world to join them. He poured himself into the kiss, into Rich, and the grand finale of fireworks erupted into an orgasmic leap of lights and manic glee.

Everything was so bright. Jeremy closed his eyes, his last imprinted image being the spark of light igniting the green in Rich's eyes, highlighting the glow of his face. If this was the last thing he ever saw, he could die happy, he thought. To know that he'd finally found him, that they had each other, if nothing else.

No matter what happened at the end of this countdown, they'd face it together.

"One!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read this and to comment. It has mean the absolute world to me.  
> See you next time for the inevitable sequel!


End file.
